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THE  BARON'S  SONS 


'H 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 


No  page  of  history  is  more  crowded  with  thrilling  inter- 
est than  that  which  records  the  uprising  of  the  Hun- 
garians, in  1848-49,  in  a  gallant  attempt  to  recover  their 
constitutional  rights.  The  events  of  that  stirring  period, 
even  when  related  by  the  sober  pen  of  the  annalist,  read 
more  like  romance  than  reality  ;  and  thus  they  cannot 
fail  to  lend  themselves  admirably  to  the  purposes  of 
historical  fiction.  More  than  one  of  that  brilliant  series 
of  novels  with  which  the  genius  of  Hungary's  greatest 
story-writer  has  enriched  the  literature,  not  of  his  own 
country  merely,  but  of  the  world,  takes  its  theme  from 
those  memorable  scenes  in  which  the  author  himself 
played  no  unimportant  part.  Into  none  of  these  fascinat- 
ing romances  has  the  writer  succeeded  in  crowding  so 
much  of  the  life  and  colour,  of  the  heroism  and  self-sacri- 
fice, the  triumph  and  the  despair,  of  that  national  con- 
vulsion, as  into  the  pages  of  "  The  Baron's  Sons "  ("  A 
Köszivü  Ember  Fiai,"  literally,  "  The  Sons  of  the  Stony- 
hearted Man  ").  Especially  eiiective  is  his  description 
of  the  historic  flight  over  the  Carpathians  of  the  two 
hundred  and  twenty  hussars  who,  at  the  outbreak  of  the 

613579 


viii  TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 

Revolution,  deserted  the  Austrian  army  and  hastened  to 
their  country's  aid.  No  chapter  in  all  the  author's  writings 
exceeds  this  one  in  breathless  interest  and  in  the  skilful 
handling  of  detail. 

The  necessity  of  abridging  the  author's  text,  while 
regretted  by  no  one  more  than  by  the  translator,  has,  it 
is  believed,  tended  to  contribute  to  the  story  an  element 
of  unity  and  compactness  which,  owing  to  the  undue 
elaboration  of  certain  minor  details,  seems  somewhat 
lacking  in  the  original.  It  is  with  extreme  hesitation 
and  diffidence,  however,  that  I  venture,  even  in  self- 
defence,  to  impute  the  slightest  blemish  to  a  style  in 
which  so  many  of  the  author's  admirers  can  see  no  fault. 
The  curtailment  has  necessitated,  in  some  chapters,  a 
certain  amount  of  adaptation,  and  a  slight  departure  from 
strict  literalness  of  rendering ;  but  it  is  hoped  that  the 
spirit  of  the  original  has  nowhere  been  sacrificed. 

p.   F.   B. 
Maiden^  Mass.,  April,  igoo. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTHR 

PAGE 

Translator's  Preface        .        .        .        .      vii 

I. 

SixTV  Minutes 

I 

II. 

The  Prayer  at  the  Grave 

15 

III. 

Two  Good  Friends 

21 

IV. 

The  Two  Others 

41 

V. 

All  Sorts  of  People 

59 

VI. 

The  Backfisch    . 

69 

VII. 

The  Old  Curiosity  Shop    . 

79 

VIII. 

A  Woman's   Revenge   . 

95 

IX. 

The  Underscored   Lines     . 

105 

X. 

The  Betrothal     . 

109 

XI. 

The  First  Step    . 

i'5 

XII. 

Spring  Days 

123 

XIII. 

The  Reverse  of  the  Medal 

129 

XIV. 

True  Love    .... 

142 

XV. 

Mother  and  Son 

165 

XVI. 

Through   Fire  and  Water 

189 

XVII. 

Timely   Aid   .... 

220 

XVIII. 

Gregory  Boksa    . 

227 

XIX. 

In  the  Royal  Forest 

V 

242 

VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  The  Dying  Soldier's  Bequest        .         .  246 

XXI.  Sunlight  and  Moonlight        .        .         .  253 

XXII.  A  Woman's  Hatred          ....  258 

XXIII.  A  Duel  between  Brothers     .         .        .  263 

XXIV.  Zebulon's  Bright  Idea    ....  278 
XXV.  Good  Old  Friends 284 

XXVI.  At  Home 291 

XXVII.  The  Mysterious  Letter.        .        .        .  298 

XXVIII.  The  Summons  Answered          .        .        .  304 

XXIX.  A  Posthumous  Message  ....  309 

XXX.  The  Prison  Telegraph    .         .         .         .315 

XXXI.  A  Headache  and  Its  Consequences      .  317 

XXXII.  The  Suitor 327 

XXXIII.  All's  Well  That  Ends  Well        .        .  334 


THE   BARON'S  SONS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

SIXTY    MINUTES. 

The  post-prandial  orator  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
toast,  the  champagne-foam  ran  over  the  edge  of  his 
glass  and  trickled  down  his  fat  fingers,  his  lungs  were 
expanded  and  his  vocal  chords  strained  to  the  utmost 
in  the  delivery  of  the  well-rounded  period  upon  which 
he  was  launched,  and  the  blood  was  rushing  to  his 
head  in  the  generous  enthusiasm  of  the  moment.  In 
that  brilliant  circle  of  guests  every  man  held  his  hand 
in  readiness  on  the  slender  stem  of  his  glass  and 
waited,  all  attention,  for  the  toast  to  come  to  an  end  in 
a  final  dazzling  display  of  oratorical  pyrotechnics.  The 
attendants  hastened  to  fill  the  half-empty  glasses,  and 
the  leader  of  the  gypsy  orchestra,  which  was  stationed 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall,  held  his  violin-bow  in 
the  air,  ready  to  fall  in  at  the  right  moment  with  a 
burst  of  melody  that  should  drown  the  clinking  of 
glasses  at  the  close  of  the  toast. 


2  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

At  this  point  the  family  physician  entered  noise- 
lessly and  whispered  a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  the 
hostess,  who  was  presiding  at  the  banquet,  and  who 
immediately  rose  and,  with  a  mute  gesture  of  apology 
to  those  of  the  guests  who  sat  near  her,  withdrew  from 
the  room.     Meanwhile  the  orator  continued  : 

"  May  that  honoured  man  who,  like  a  second  Atlas, 
bears  the  burden  of  our  country  on  his  shoulders, 
whom  all  future  ages  will  reverence  as  the  type  of  true 
patriotism,  who  is  the  leader  of  our  party's  forces  in 
their  march  to  victory,  and  whom  we  all  regard  as  our 
light-giving  pharos,  a  tower  of  strength  to  our  side  and 
the  bulwark  of  our  cause,  though  at  present  he  is  un- 
fortunately unable  to  be  with  us  in  perfeon, —  may  he, 
I  say,  live  to  enjoy  renewed  health  and  strength  and 
to  bear  forward  the  banner  of  his  party  for  many, 
many  years  to  come  !  " 

The  final  words  of  this  peroration  were  drowned  in 
a  storm  of  cheers,  an  outburst  of  music,  and  the  con- 
fused din  caused  by  the  pushing  back  of  chairs  and 
the  dashing  of  wine-glasses  against  the  wall,  while  the 
guests  fell  into  one  another's  arms  in  an  ecstasy  of 
enthusiasm. 

"  Long  life  to  him  !  "  they  cried  ;  "  may  he  live  a 
thousand  years !  " 

He  to  whom  the  assembled  company  wished  so  long 
a  life  was  the  renowned  and  honoured  Baron  Casimir 


Baradlay,  lord  lieutenant  of  his  counfy.  the  ownen^f 


SIXTY  MINUTES.  3 

large  estates,  and  the  leader  of  a  powerful  party.  The 
high  dignitaries  assembled  about  his  hospitable  board 
had  gathered  from  far  and  near  to  determine  upon  a 
programme  which  should  ensure  their  country's  wel- 
fare for  the  coming  years.  As  a  fitting  close  to  this 
important  conference,  Baron  Baradlay  was  treating 
his  partisans  to  a  banquet  in  the  great  hall  of  his  castle, 
and  in  the  unavoidable  absence  of  the  host  himself  his 
wife  was  presiding  at  the  festive  board.  The  admin- 
istrator, however,  Benedict  Rideghváry^  had  taken  the 
absentee's  place  at  the  conference. 

At  the  close  of  the  toast,  when  those  near  the  head 
of  the  table  turned  to  touch  glasses  with  the  hostess, 
her  absence  was  noticed,  and  the  butler  who  stood  be- 
hind her  empty  chair  explained  that  the  physician  had 
just  entered  and  whispered  something  in  the  lady's 
ear,  whereupon  she  had  left  the  room.  Probably,  said 
he,  her  husband  had  sent  for  her.  Upon  this  infor- 
mation a  number  of  the  guests  made  anxious  inquiry 
whether  their  honoured  host  was  seriously  ill ;  and  the 
administrator  hastened  to  reassure  all  present,  as  far 
as  his  voice  could  reach  down  the  long  table,  by  tell- 
ing them  that  it  was  merely  a  return  of  the  baron's 
chronic  ailment.  Some  of  the  better-informed  sup- 
plemented this  announcement  by  explaining  to  their 
neighbours  that  the  gentleman  had,  for  perhaps  ten 
years,  been  subject  to  frequent  attacks  of  heart-failure, 
but    could   nevertheless,  by    observing   very  regular 


4  THE  Bj^RON'S^^ONS.j  y' í/         f\ 

habits,  be  expected  to  live  for  another  tenClyears  or 
more. 

Therefore,  as  it  was  only  one  of  his  habitual  attacks, 
all  joined  in  wishing  their  honoured  host  many,  many 
years  of  life  and  happiness.  The  family  physician, 
however,  had  whispered  in  the  wife's  ear  these  four 
words  :  "  Only  sixty  minutes  more  !  " 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  said  the  husband, 
as  his  wife  entered  the  sick-room,  and  the  words 
sounded  like  a  reproach. 

"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could,"  returned  the  other, 
as  if  in  apology. 

"  You  stopped  to  weep,  and  yet  you  knew  my  time 
was  short.  Let  us  have  no  weakness,  Marie.  It  is 
the  course  of  nature  ;  in  an  hour  I  shall  be  a  sense- 
less form  ;  so  the  doctor  told  me.  Are  our  guests 
enjoying  themselves .'' " 

A  silent  nod  was  the  reply. 

"  Let  them  continue  to  do  so  ;  do  not  disturb  them, 
or  hasten  their  departure.  Having  assembled  for  a 
conference,  let  them  remain  for  the  funeral  banquet. 
I  have  long  since  determined  upon  all  the  details  of 
the  burial  ceremony.  The  funeral  anthem  will  be 
sung  by  the  Debreczen  College  chorus  —  no  opera 
music,  only  the  old  psalm  tunes.  The  customary 
addresses  will  be  delivered  by  the  superintendent,  in 
the  church,  and  by  the  sub-dean,  in  the  house,  while 
the  local  pastor  will  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  over  the 


S/XTY  MINUTES.  5 

grave,  and  nothing  more.  Have  you  followed  me 
carefully  ? " 

The  wife  was  gazing  abstractedly  into  vacancy. 

"I  beg  you,  Marie,"  urged  the  speaker,  "to  bear 
in  mind  that  what  I  am  now  saying  I  shall  be  unable 
to  repeat.  Have  the  goodness,  then,  to  be  seated  at 
this  little  table  by  my  bed,  and  write  down  the  direc- 
tions I  have  just  given,  and  also  those  that  I  am  about 
to  add.    You  will  find  writing  materials  on  the  table." 

The  baroness  did  her  husband's  bidding,  seating 
herself  at  the  little  table  and  writing  down  what  had 
just  been  told  her.  When  she  had  finished  the  patient 
continued  as  follows  : 

"You  have  been  a  true  and  faithful  wife  to  me, 
Marie,  ever  since  our  marriage,  and  have  obeyed  all  my 
commands.  For  an  hour  longer  I  shall  continue 
to  be  your  lord  and  master,  and  the  orders  that  I  give 
you  during  this  hour  will  furnish  you  occupation  for 
the  rest  of  your  life.  Nor  shall  I  cease  after  my 
death  to  be  your  lord  and  master.  Oh,  my  breath  is 
failing  me !     Give  me  a  drop  of  that  medicine." 

The  wife  administered  a  few  drops  in  a  little  gold 
teaspoon,  and  the  patient  breathed  more  freely. 

"Write  down  my  words,"  he  continued.  "No  one 
but  you  must  hear  them  or  see  them.  I  have  per- 
formed a  great  work  which  must  not  perish  with  me. 
The  earth  is  to  pause  in  its  course  and  stand  still  ; 
or,  if  the  earth  as  a  whole  will  not  stop,  yet  our  small 


6  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

portion  of  it  must  do  so.  Many  there  are  who  under- 
stand me,  but  few  that  know  liow  to  follow  out  my 
designs,  and  still  fewer  that  have  the  requisite  cour- 
age. I  have  three  sons  who  will  take  my  place  when 
I  am  dead.  Write  down,  Marie,  what  my  sons  are  to 
clo^áffér  "my  death.  They  are  all  foo  young  to  assume 
"their  dutie's'áf'ö'nce.  They  must  first  be  trained  in 
the  school  of  life,  and,  meanwhile,  you  will  be  unable 
to  see  them.  But  don't  sigh  over  that ;  they  are  big 
boys  now,  and  are  not  to  be  fondled  and  petted  any 
longer. 

"■  My  eldest  son.  Ödön,'  is  to  remain  at  the  court  of 
St.  Petersburgj^  it  is  a  good^chool  for  him.  Nature 
and  disposition  have  too  long  fostered  in  him  an  ardent 
enthusiasm  which  can  bring  no  good  to  our  stock, 
and  of  which  he  will  there  be  cured.  The  Russian 
court  is  a  good  training  school,  and  will  teach  him  to 
distinguish  between  men  born  with  certain  inherited 
rights,  and  those  born  with  no  rights  whatever.     It 

'  The  vowel  ö'vs,  sounded  much  Uke  oe  m  Goethe.  J,  as  \n /end, 
is  pronounced  like  y.  In  pronouncing  other  Hungarian  proper 
names  in  the  book,  let  it  be  noted  that  a  is  sounded  nearly  like  o  in 
'not;  á  like  a  in  far  ;  e  like  e  in  met ;  e' like  a  in  fate ;  i>  like  0  in 
whole,  but  somewhat  shorter  ;  ó  like  0  in  hole  ;  cz  like  ts ;  s  like  sh  ; 
sz  like  s  in  soft ;  gis  hard  ;  ,^is  sounded  like  dy  in  wotdd you.  The 
stress  of  voice  is  on  the  first  syllable  in  every  case,  though  less  pro- 
nounced than  in  English.  For  typographical  reasons  the  diaeresis 
has  been  substituted  for  the  double  acute  accent;  the  latter  gives 
the  same  sound  to  the  vowel  over  which  it  is  placed  as  the  former, 
only  lengthened. 


l^ 


SIXTY  MINUTES.  7  j 

will  teach  him  to  stand  on  the  heights  without  feehng    "^j. 
dizzy,  to  recognise  the  true  rights  of  a  wife  in  the    ,    v 
eyes  of  her  husband,  to  cast  aside  all  foolish  youthful       'V; 
enthusiasm,  and,  upon  his  return  hither  as  a  man,  to  ' 

grasp  the  rudder  from  which  my  hand  has  fallen. 
You  are  to  supply  him  with  money  enough  to  play 
his  part  worthily  among  the  young  nobles  of  the 
Russian  court.  Let  him  drain  the  cup  of  pleasure 
to  the  dregs.  Leave  him  to  his  extravagances.  To 
gain  the  serene  heights  of  indifference,  a  young  man 
must  first  sow  his  wild  oats." 

The  speaker  paused  to  looKafthe  clock,  whíclí~" 
admonished  him  to  hasten,  as  time  was  short  and 
there  was  still  much  to  say. 

"That  young  girl,"  he  continued,  "on  whose 
account  he  was  sent  away  from  home,  you  must  try  '  ^..^ 
to  marry  to  some  one.  Spare  no  expense.  There  ^ 
are  men.  enough  suitable  for  her,  and  we  will  provide 
the  dowry.  Should  the  girl  prove  obstinate  in  her 
resolution,  you  must  endeavour  to  bring  about  her 
father's  removal  to  Transylvania,  where  we  have  many 
connections.  Ödön  is  to  remain  abroad  until  the 
family  has  moved  away  or  he  himself  has  married. 
The  matter  need  not,  I  think,  cause  you  any  anxiety. 
My  second  son,  Richard,  will  remain  a  month  longer  in 
the  royal  body-guard  ;  but  it  offers  no  opening  for 
a  career,  and  he  will  leave  it  for  the  cavalry,  where 
he  is  to  serve  a  year,  after  which  he  must  seek  an 


jr-ev 


8  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

appointment  on  the  general  staff.  Skill,  valour,  and 
fidelity  are  three  excellent  aids  to  a  man  in  making 
his  way  upward,  and  all  three  are  developed  by  ser- 
vice. There  are  victories  yonder  waiting  to  be  won, 
and  my  son  is  to  take  the  lead.  There  will  be  war  in 
Europe  when  once  the  earthquake  begins,  and  a 
Richard  Baradlay  will  find  work  enough  ready  to  his 
hand.  His  fame  shall  cast  its  glory  over  us  all.  He 
must  never  marry  :  a  wife  would  only  be  in  his  way. 
Let  his  part  be  to  promote  the  fortunes  of  his 
"brothers.  What  an  excellent  claim  for  their  advance- 
ment woiild  be  the  heroic  death  of  their  brother  on 
the  battle-field !  But  you  are  not  writing,  Marie. 
Surely,  you  are  not  weeping .''  I  beg  you  to  overcome 
such  weakness,  as  there  are  only  forty  minutes  left, 
and  I  have  yet  much  to  say." 

The  wife  mastered  her  feelings  and  wrote  on. 
.^  My  third  and  youngest  son,  Jenő,  is  my  favourite  ; 
I  don't  deny  that  I  love  him  best  of  the  three ;  but 
he  will  never  know  it.  I  have  always  treated  him 
harshly,  and  you  too  must  continue  so  to  treat  him. 
Let  him  remain  at  Vienna  in  the  civil  service  and 
make  his  way  upward  step  by  step.  The  struggle 
will  give  him  address,  shrewdness,  and  fruitfulness  of 
resource.  Let  him  learn  to  supplant  others  by  dint 
of  superior  intelligence  and  amiability,  and  to  take  all 
possible  pains  to  please  those  whom  he  is  afterward 
to  use  as  ladders  for  his  own  upward  progress.     Do 


SIXTY  MINUTES.  9 

not  spoil  him  with  tender  treatment  at  home,  but  let 
him  learn  to  adapt  himself  to  strangers  and  judge  of 
their  worth.  His  ambition  must  be  fostered,  and  an 
acquaintance  cultivated  with  powerful  and  infiuehtial 
('men  that  shall  lead  to  valuable  family  connections." 

A  momentary  distortion  ot  the  patient's  feat ures 
bore  witness  to  his  acute  suffering.  It  lasted  but  a 
second,  however,  when  the  noble  will  overcame  the 
weakness  of  the  flesh  and  enabled  the  speaker  to  con- 
tinue his  dying  instructions. 

"Three  such  strong  supports  —  a  diplomat,  a 
soldier,  and  a  high  government  official  —  will  uphold 
and  preserve  the  work  of  my  hands,  Alas !  why 
could  I  not  have  continued  my  task  a  little  longer, 
until  they  were  farther  advanced  in  their  careers .-' 
Marie,  my  wife,  I  beg  and  most  solemnly  adjure 
you  to  obey  my  behests.  Every  muscle  in  my 
body  is  wrestling  with  death,  but  my  thoughts  are 
not  now  upon  that  final  dissolution  which  must  so 
soon  overtake  me.  This  cold  sweat  on  my  brow  is 
not  caused  by  the  death-agony,  but  by  the  fear  lest 
all  my  past  striving  shall  have  been  for  naught,  lest 
the  work  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  shall  be  buried 
with  me.  Ah,  Marie,  if  you  but  knew  how  my  heart 
pains  me !  No,  no  more  medicine  ;  that  cannot  help 
me.  Show  me  my  sons*  pictures ;  they  will  bring 
relief," 

The  baroness  brought  three  miniature   likenesses 


10  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

and  held  them  before  her  husband's  eyes.  The  man 
with  the  heart  of  stone  looked  at  them,  one  after  the 
other,  and  his  sufferings  abated.  He  forgot  his  death 
pangs,  and  pointing  with  his  wasted  forefinger  at  the 
portrait  of  the  eldest,  he  whispered  :  "  He  will  be 
most  like  me,  I  believe."  Then,  waving  aside  the 
three  ni^niatures,  he  continued,  coldly  :  "  But  no  sen- 
timentality now  !  The  time  is  short  and  I  shall  soon 
be  gathered  to  my  fathers  and  leave  to  my  sons  what 
my  ancestors  left  to  me.  But  my  house  will  remain 
as  the  fortress  and  defence  of  true  principles.  Nemes- 
domb  will  live  in  history  as  the  centre  and  focus  of 
our  national  policy.  And  you,  too,  will  remain  after 
I  am  gone." 

The  writer  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"You  look  at  me  as  if  to  ask  what  a  woman,  a 
widow,  can  effect  in  a  task  under  which  a  man  broke 
down.  I  will  tell  you.  Six  weeks  after  my  death 
you  areJojnarry_again/|_^ 

The  pen  fell  from  the  woman's  hand. 

"That  is  my  command!"  continued  the  stony- 
hearted man  sternly  ;  "  and  I  have  chosen  a  husband 
for  you  in  advance.  You  will  give  your  hand  to 
Benedict  Rideghváry."' 

At  this  the  wife  could  no  longer  contain  her- 
self. She  left  the  writing-table,  sank  down  upon 
her  knees  by  the  bedside,  seized  her  husband's  hand 
and  wet  it  with  her  tears.    The  patient  closed  his 


SIXTY  MINUTES.  II 

eyes    and    sought    counsel     in    the    darkness.     He 
found  it. 

"Marie,"  said  he,  "do  not  give  way  in  that  man- 
ner ;  it  is  now  no  time  for  tears.  My  orders  must 
be  obeyed.  You  are  young  yet,  —  not  forty  years 
old.  You  are  beautiful  and  will  not  lose  your 
beauty.  Twenty-four  years  ago,  when  I  married 
you,  you  were  not  a  whit  fairer  than  you  are  to-day. 
You  had  raven-black  hair  and  bright  eyes,  and  you 
have  them  yet.  You  were  gentle  and  modest,  and 
you  have  not  lost  those  virtues.  I  have  always  loved 
you  warmly,  as  you  well  know.  In  the  first  year  of 
our  married  life  my  eldest  son,  Ödön,  was  born  ;  in 
the  next  year  my  second  son,  Richard  ;  and  in  the 
third  my  youngest,  Jenő.  Then  God  visited  me  with 
a  severe  illness,  and  I  have  ever  since  been  an  invalid. 
The  doctors  said  I  was  doomed,  and  that  a  single  kiss 
from  your  beautiful  lips  would  kill  me.  And  so  I 
have  been  wasting  away  for  the  last  twenty  years  at 
your  side  like  a  condemned  criminal.  Before  your 
eyes  the  bloom  of  my  life  has  withered  away,  and 
during  all  this  time  you  have  been  merely  a  dying 
man's  nurse.  I  have  dragged  out  my  existence  from 
day  to  day,  possessed  by  a  great  purpose  which  alone 
enabled  me  to  retain  the  breath  of  life  in  my  body 
amid  the  most  grievous  tortures.  Oh,  what  a  life  it 
has  been,  —  a  life  bereft  of  every  pleasure  !  Yet  I 
endured    it,    denying    myself    everything    for    which 


12  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Other  men  live.  I  lived  simply  for  the  sake  of  the 
future,  a  future  which  I  wish  to  be,  for  our  country, 
\^  fThe  "perpetuation  oi  ttie_^^  For  that  future  I  have 
reaped  my  sons,  for  it  I  have  spent  my  strength,  and 
in  it  my  name  will  live.  On  that  name  now  rests  the 
curse  of  the  present,  but  it  will  be  glorified  by  the 
radiance  of  the  future.  It  is  for  that  name,  Marie, 
that  I  have  suffered  so  much.  But  you  must  live  to 
enjoy  yet  many  years  of  haiDpiness." 

The  wife  sobbed  in  mute  protest  against  his  com- 
mands. 

"It  is  my  will,"  cried  the  man,  and  he  snatched 
his  hand  from  her  grasp.  "  Go  back  to  the  table  and 
write.  'This  is  my  dying  command  :  six  weeks  after 
my  death  my  wife  is  to  marry  Benedict  Rideghváry, 
who  is  the  man  most  worthy  to  follow  in  my  foot- 
steps. Only  thus  shall  I  rest  easily  in  my  grave 
and  enjoy  peace  in  heaven.'  Have  you  written  that, 
Marie  t " 

The  pen  slipped  from  the  writer's  fingers ;  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  remained  silent. 

"The  hour  is  fast  going,"  stammered  the  dying 
man,  struggling  against  the  approaching  dissolution  ; 
"  but  no7i  omnis  inoriar.  The  work  that  I  have  begun 
will  survive  me.  Marie,  lay  your  hand  on  mine  and 
leave  it  there  until  mine  begins  to  stiffen.  No  foolish 
sentimentalism,  no  tears  !  I  will  not  let  you  weep 
now.     We  shall  not  take  leave  of  each  other :    my 


5U 


SIXTY  MINUTES.  I  3 

spirit  will  remain  with  you  and  never  leave  you. 
Every  morning  and  evening  it  will  demand  of  you  an 
account  how  you  have  discharged  the  duties  I  have 
laid  upon  you  in  this  my  dying  hour.  I  shall  be 
near  you  constantly." 

The  woman  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  but  the 
dying  man  folded  his  hands  calmly  and  murmured  in 
broken  accents :  "  The  hour  is  nearly  gone.  The 
doctor  was  right :  I  no  longer  feel  any  pain  ;  every- 
thing grows  dark  around  me,  only  my  son's  pictures 
are  still  visible.  Who  is  that  coming  toward  me  out 
of  the  darkness  .-*  Halt !  Advance  no  farther ;  I  have 
yet  more  that  I  must  say."  ^ 

But  the  grim  spectre's  approach  was  not  to  be 
stayed ;  it  laid  its  invisible  hand  over  the  dying 
patient's  face,  and  the  powerful  man  with  the  heart 
of  stone  succumbed  to  a  force  mightier  than  himself. 
He  voluntarily  closed  his  eyes  and  pressed  his  lips 
together,  not  calling  upon  any  one  to  help  him  die,  as 
do  ordinary  weak  mortals  ;  but  proudly  and  unshrink- 
ingly, as  becomes  a  nobleman,  he  surrendered  his 
great,  indomitable  soul  to  the  master  jailer,  Death. 

When  the  baroness  saw  that  her  husband  was  dead, 
she  fell  upon  her  knees  by  the  table  and,  folding  her 
hands  upon  the  written  page  before  her,  stammered 
forth  :  "  Hear  me,  Lord  God,  and  be  merciful  to  his 
forsaken  soul,  as  I  now  vow  to  be  merciful  and  to 
execute  the  very  opposite  of  all  the  wicked  commands 


14  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

he  has  with  his  last  breath  enjoined  upon  me.  This 
is  my  fixed  resolve,  O  God,  and  I  pray  Thee  in  Thine 
infinite  power  to  help  me." 

A  cry,  unearthly  and  terrible,  rang  out  on  the 
sepulchral  stillness  of  the  room.  The  startled 
woman  threw  a  look  of  horror  at  the  dead  form 
stretched  out  upon  the  bed.  And  see !  his  closed 
lips  had  parted,  his  eyes  had  opened,  and  his  right 
hand,  which  had  been  folded  in  his  left  upon  his 
breast,  was  raised  toward  his  head. 

Perhaps  the  departing  soul  had  been  overtaken  in 
its  flight  by  the  kneeling  woman's  vow,  and  had 
turned  back  to  reenter  its  mortal  tenement  and 
protest  with  that  one  fearful  cry  against  the  vio- 
lation of  its  commands. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PRAYER  AT  THE  GRAVE. 

The  baron's  funeral  took  place  a  week  later.  The 
funeral  sermon  was  very  long,  and  the  baroness  wept 
through  it  all  with  a  grief  as  unaffected  as  that  of  any 
peasant  widow  in  the  land. 

"The  poor  lady  is  having  a  good  cry  once  for  all," 
remarked  one  of  the  distinguished  attendants  at  the 
funeral  to  his  neighbour.  "  They  say  she  was  not 
allowed  to  shed  a  tear  during  her  husband's  lifetime." 

"The  baron  was  indeed  a  stern  man,"  answered 
the  other,  "and  would  not  suffer  his  wife  to  give 
way  to  grief  or  pain,   however  severe." 

Meanwhile  the  lady  thus  referred  to  removed  her 
tear-moistened  handkerchief  from  her  eyes  occasion- 
ally, and  sought  to  compose  her  features. 

"  She  is  really  a  beautiful  woman  still,"  whispered 
one  of  the  gentlemen  to  the  other. 

"  For  twenty  years  she  has  been  virtually  a  widow," 
was  the  reply. 

"  I  doubt  whether  she  remains  one  another  twelve 
months,"  observed  the  first  speaker. 

'5 


1 6  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

The  funeral  anthem  followed  at  this  point.  The 
village  church  could  boast  of  an  organ,  the  generous 
gift  of  the  deceased.  The  choir  sang,  in  excellent 
time  and  tune,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  funeral 
melodies, — from  the  opera  "  Nebuchadnezzar,"  with 
words,  of  course,  adapted  to  the  occasion.  Did  the 
lamented  Casimir  Baradlay  hear  this  opera  selection 
sung  over  his  remains  ?  Administrator  Rideghváry 
gave  utterance  to  this  query  as  he  turned  to  the 
gentleman  at  his  side. 

"  Didn't  he  like  opera  music  .''  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  was  always  highly  incensed 
when  any  such  music  was  introduced  into  the  church 
sendee.  Indeed,  he  went  so  far  as  to  give  express 
directions  in  his  will  that  no  operatic  airs  should  be 
sung  at  his  funeral." 

"  Are  you,  then,  so  familiar  with  his  last  will  and 
testament  .■*  "  inquired  the  other. 

But  the  administrator  merely  lowered  his  eyelids 
and  twirled  his  mustache,  implying  thereby  that  he 
knew  more  than  he  cared  to  admit. 

The  funeral  anthem  did  not  close  the  service.  Side 
by  side  on  the  bench  near  the  pulpit  sat  three  priests, 
who  were  evidently  there  for  a  purpose.  When  the 
singing  ceased  one  of  them  mounted  the  pulpit. 

"  Are  they  all  three  going  to  preach  to  us .'' " 
asked  the  administrator's  companion,  already  becom- 
ing restless. 


THE  PRAYER   AT  THE    GRAVE.  1/ 

"No,"  was  the  reply;  "one  of  them  is  the  local 
pastor,  who  is  to  offer  a  prayer  at  the  grave." 

"Ah,  is  he  the  one  whose"  —  but  here  the  two 
gentlemen  fell  to  whispering  so  softly  to  each  other 
that  the  concluding  words  of  the  sentence  could  not 
be  overheard. 

"And  is  the  daughter  here .?"  asked  one.  "Ah, 
yes,  there  she  is  in  that  corner,  dressed  in  brown, 
her  handkerchief  in  her  hand.     A  lovely  girl,  truly  !  " 

"  Poor  child  !  "  whispered  another.  And,  indeed, 
she  was  to  be  pitied,  for  she  seemed  little  likely  ever 
to  see  again  the  one  for  whom  she  was  weeping. 

At  length  the  service  came  to  an  end,  twelve 
haiduks,  splendidly  attired,  raised  the  magnificent 
coffin  upon  their  shoulders,  the  administrator  offered 
his  arm  to  the  widow,  and  the  funeral  procession  is- 
sued from  the  church  and  took  its  way  toward  the 
family  vault,  where  yet  one  last  ceremony  was  to  be 
observed. 

Upon  depositing  the  remains  in  their  final  resting- 
place,  it  is  customary  for  the  local  pastor  to  offer  a 
prayer  for  the  repose  of  the  departed  soul.  Many 
were  curious  to  see  ^nd  jiear  the  eccentric  priest, 
Bartholomew  Lánghy  by  name,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
perform  this  office.  The  old  preacher  was  wont  to 
speak  in  the  pulpit  like  an  Abraham-a-Sancta-Clara, 
and  in  the  county  assembly  like  Lawrence  the  Club- 
bearer.     After  the  third  hymn  a  space  was  cleared 


1 8  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

for  the  preacher  before  the  entrance  to  the  vault, 
where  he  took  his  stand  with  bared  liead,  surrounded 
by  tlie  mourners.  On  each  side  of  his  forehead, 
which  was  high  and  bald,  hung  a  few  thin  locks  of 
hair ;  his  face  was  smoothly  shaven,  as  was  then  the 
custom  in  the  Church,  "and  the  heavy  eyebrows  over 
the  keen,  dark  eyes  gave  his  countenance  a  look  of 
resolute  determination. 

Folding  his  hands,  he  prayed  as  follows  :  "■  O  Thou 
Judge  of  the  living  and  of  the  dead,  almighty  Father 
of  us  all,  incline  Thine  ear  to  our  petition.  Lo ! 
with  much  earthly  pomp  and  splendour  the  ashes  of 
one  of  Thy  servants  are  borne  to  the  marble  sepulchre 
prepared  for  their  reception,  while  in  the  same  hour  his 
soul,  naked  and  trembling,  cowers  at  heaven's  portals 
and  sues  for  admission  to  paradise.  What  are  we 
poor  mortals  that  we  should  take  our  departure  from 
this  life  amid  such  vain  display  and  idle  pomp,  —  we 
whose  brothers  are  the  worms  and  whose  mother  is 
the  dust  beneath  our  feet .''  The  memory  of  a  single 
good  deed  lights  our  path  better  than  the  flare  of  a 
thousand  torches,  and  the  unspoken  benison  of  our 
neighbours  is  a  fairer  ornament  for  our  coffin  than  all 
the  escutcheons  and  orders  in  the  world.  O  Lord, 
be  merciful  to  those  who  in  their  lives  have  shown  no 
mercy.  Inquire  not  too  sternly  of  the  trembling  soul 
before  Thee,  '  Who  art  thou,  who  led  thee  hither,  and 
what  say  they  of  thee  down  yonder  } '     For  to  what 


THE   PRAYER  AT   THE    GRAVE.  1 9 

but  thine  infinite  mercy  can  he  appeal  who,  though 
great  and  powerful  in  this  life,  yet  stands  before 
Thee  stripped  of  his  earthly  glory  ?  Called  upon  to 
answer  Thy  dread  questions,  '  Hast  thou  given  help 
to  the  needy,  raised  up  the  fallen,  protected  the  per- 
secuted, lent  thine  ear  to  those  that  appealed  to  thee 
in  despair,  wiped  away  the  tears  of  the  sorrowing, 
shown  compassion  to  the  oppressed,  and  repaid  love 
with  love  ?  '  ■ —  he  must  answer,  '  No.'  And  when  Thou 
askest  him,  '  What  use  hast  thou  made  of  the  power 
which  I  entrusted  to  thee  ?     Hast  thou  given  happi- 


ness to  those  under  thy  charge  ?     Hast  thou  built 


Tor  posterity  ?  Hast  thou  iionestiy  served  thy  coun- 
try, or  didst  thou  render  homage  to  strange  idols  ? ' 
—  what  answer  can  he  make,  to  whom  turn  for 
help,  with  what  escutcheon  or  orders  shield  his 
breast,  whom  call  upon  as   intercessor  ?  "  ^.    1 

The  priest's  face  glowed,  he  seemed  to  increase  in 
stature,  and  his  hearers  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of 
awe  and  dread  as  they  listened  to  him. 

"O  Lord,"  he  continued,  "let  justice  be  tempered 
with  mercy,  avert  Thy  scrutiny  from  this  man's  past, 
and  remember  only  that  he  walked  in  darkness  here 
below  and  saw  not  Thy  face.  Weigh  not  his  errors 
and  his  failings,  but  ascribe  to  him  good  intentions 
even  where  he  erred.  Forgive  Thou  him  in  heaven 
even  as  those  against  whom  he  sinned  forgive  him 
here   on   earth.     Blot   out   the   remembrance   of   his 


20  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

works,  that  none  may  thereby  be  reminded  of  him. 
But  if  the  sinner  must  atone  for  his  sins,  if  Thou  art 
inexorable  toward  him  and  wilt  not  dismiss  him  un- 
punished from  before  Thy  throne,  then  let  his  atone- 
ment be  the  return  of  his  soul,  which  now  sees  all 
things  in  the  clear  light  of  Thy  truth,  and  not  as 
through  a  glass,  darkly, —  let  his  soul,  we  pray  thee, 
return  to  the  earth  and  take  up  its  abode  in  his  three 
sons,  in  order  that  the  sins  of  the  father  may  be  trans- 
formed into  virtues  in  the  sons,  and  that  the  soil  of  his 
fatherland,  which  was  his  tomb  as  long  as  he  lived, 
may  now,  when  his  bones  rest  therein  in  death,  be- 
come the  cradle  in  which  he  shall  at  last  wake  to  life 
everlasting.  Hear,  O  Lord,  Thy  servant's  prayer. 
Amen." 

The  closing  of  the  iron  portals  of  the  vault  termi- 
nated the  ceremony,  and  the  procession  wound  its  way 
to  the  castle,  where  tables  were  s]Dread  in  different 
rooms  for  the  nobility,  the  students  and  the  domestics. 

The  old  priest,  however,  lingered  behind  and,  while 
all  the  rest  turned  their  faces  toward  the  castle,  took 
his  daughter  by  the  hand  and  went  another  way.  In 
vain  had  a  cover  been  laid  for  him  in  the  great  hall  of 
the  castle. 


CHAPTER 

TWO    GOOD 

In  a  splendid  hall  formed  entirely  of  malachite — 
its  slender  columns  hewn  each  from  a  single  block 
and  resembling  tropical  tree-trmiks,  I's  niches  filled 
with  rare  exotic  plants,  its  centre  occupied  by  a 
mammoth  aquarium,  and  its  arched  doorways  each 
affording  a  glimpse  into  a  seemingly  endless  series 
of  other  magnificent  apartments  —  was  gathered  a 
brilliant  company.  Among  the  gold-trimmed  and 
order-bedecked  costumes  of  the  men  was  occasion- 
ally seen  the  plain  black  attire  of  an  attache  to 
some  embassy,  and  not  infrequently  these  soberly 
clad  young  men  received  quite  as  much  attention 
from  the  ladies  as  did  the  cavaliers  in  gaudier 
array. 

One  such  black-clothed  figure  seemed  to  be  the 
object  of  unusual  interest.  His  handsome  face  showed 
at  once  youth,  high  birth,  and  an  air  of  modesty  and 
refinement.  A  woman  might  well  have  envied  him 
his  large  blue  eyes,  shaded  by  their  long  lashes  ;  but 
his  noble  profile,  finely  cut  lips,  and  tall  and  slender, 


22  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

although  muscular  and  elastic,  form  betokened  the 
early  maturity  of  vigorous  manhood. 

A  gentleman  in  a  dazzling  military  uniform,  with  a 
diamond  order  on  his  breast  and  a  silk  sash  extending 
over  his  shoulder  and  down  to  his  hip,  addressed  the 
young  man  and  linked  his  arm  in  his.  He  had  known 
the  youthful  attache's  father,  whom  he  esteemed  as 
an  able  and  highly  gifted  man,  and  he  prophesied  a 
yet  more  brilliant  career  for  the  son.  As  he  drew 
him  forth  in  his  promenade,  he  told  him  to  prepare  to 
be  presented  to  the  grand-duchess. 

It  was  a  formidable  ordeal  for  a  young  and  unknown 
man,  who  had  not  even  a  uniform  to  brace  his  cour- 
age, to  be  summoned  before  one  of  the  greatest  ladies 
of  the  vast  empire,  in  the  presence  of  so  many  august 
dignitaries,  and  to  be  called  upon  to  frame,  on  the  in- 
stant, suitable  replies  to  her  questions,  and  perhaps  to 
repay  her  gracious  words  with  an  improvised  compli- 
ment  or  two. 

But  he  stood  the  test,  and  many  more  beside. 
Dancing  began,  and  on%is  arm  floated  one  charming 
partner  after  another,  each  a  type  of  beauty- and  grace. 
The  lovely  Princess  Alexandra,  only  daughter  of  a 
Russian  noble,  a  blonde  beauty  whose  golden  locks 
seemed  to  have  been  spun  out  of  sunbeams,  had 
whirled  around  the  room  twice  on  his  arm  when,  as 
they  again  reached  her  seat,  she  gave  him  a  stealthy 
pressure   of    the  hand,   as   much   as   to   say,   "  Once 


TIVO    GOOD  FRIENDS.  23 

more  !  " — and  so  they  danced  around  the  hall  a  third 
time.  It  was  a  piece  of  boldness  on  her  part  that  is 
seldom  committed  except  out  of  wantonness  or  — 
love. 

The  youth  bowed,  and  left  his  partner,  feeling 
neither  weariness  nor  any  undue  quickening  of  the 
pulse.  There  was  a  charm  about  him  which  lay  in 
his  calm,  passionless  bearing,  and  his  unfailing  self- 
control  where  other  young  men  would  have  shown 
excitement.  Royal  pomp  and  splendo.ur  did  not  ap- 
peal  to  him,  nor  did  beautiful  eyes,  sweet  words,  or 
the  secret  pressure  of  a  fair -hand  rob  him  of  his  self- 
possession. 

When  midnight  had  struck  and  the  orchestras  in 
the  various  rooms  were  all  playing  national  airs,  as  a 
signal  that  the  grand-duchess  was  about  to  retire 
to  her  private  apartments,  the  black-clothed  young 
man  hurried  into  the  malachite  hall,  and  reached  for 
a  glass  of  sherbet  from  the  tray  which  a  servant  was 
bearing  around  the  room.  Suddenly,  however,  some 
one  pulled  his  hand  away,  and  said  :  "  Don't  drink 
that !  " 

The  young  man  turned,  and  for  the  first  time  that 
evening  a  smile  of  genuine  pleasure  lighted  up  his 
face. 

"  Ah,  is  it  you,  Leonirft  "  he  exclaimed. 

Leonin  was  a  young  officer  of  the  guard  in  tightly 
fitting  uniform,   a  muscular  young  fellow  with  full 


24  THE.  BARON'S  SONS. 

face,  carefully  kept  blond  mustache  and  side- whiskers, 
and  thick  blond  eyebrows  which  went  well  with  his 
keen  and  animated  gray  eyes. 

"  I  thought  I  had  lost  you  in  the  dancing-hall," 
said  he,  with  friendly  reproach  in  his  tone. 

"  I  was  dancing  with  your  betrothed.  Didn't  you 
see  me  .^     She  is  a  charming  girl." 

"  Charming  indeed  ;  but  how  does  that  help  matters 
for  me  .-'  I  can't  marry  her  till  I  am  of  age  and  wear 
rosettes  on  my  epaulets  ;  and  that  won't  be  for  two 
years  yet.  A  man  can't  live  all  that  time  on  a  pair 
of  beautiful  eyes.     Come  with  me." 

The  other  hesitated.  "  I  am  not  sure  whether  we 
ought  to  run  away  so  early,"  said  he. 

"  But  don't  you  hear  the  bands  playing  the  national 
hymns .'' "  asked  his  companion.  "Besides,  we  can 
slip  out  through  the  rear  door  ;  a  sleigh  is  waiting  for 
me  there  with  my  furs.  Surely  you  haven't  any 
more  engagements  with  the  wax  dolls  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  I  am  down  for  a 

quadrille  with  the  Princess  N ,  to  whom  I  was 

just  now  presented." 

"Oh,  I  beg  you,  have  nothing  to  do  with  her," 
urged  the  young  officer.  "  She  will  only  make  sport 
of  you,  as  she  does  of  all  the  others.     Come  with  me." 

"  Whither  do  you  wish  to  take  me  .-'  " 

"  To  the  infernal  regions.  Are  you  afraid  to  fol- 
low .?  " 


TIVO    GO  on   FRIENDS.  25 

"Not  at  all." 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  paradise,  too,  if  I  ask 
you  ? ' ' 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"And  if  I  invite  you  to  a  stuffy  little  inn  on  Ka:_ 
mennoi  Island,  where  the  sailors  are  having  a  dance, 
will  you  come  .''  " 

"Yes,  anywhere  you  please ;  it's  all  one  to  me." 

"  Good !  That's  what  I  like."  And  Leonin  em- 
braced his  friend,  after  which  he  led  him  forth  from 
the  marble  palace  by  passages  known  to  himself. 
Once  in  the  open  air,  they  ran  in  their  light  ball-room 
costumes  to  the  bank  of  the  Neva,  where  a  sleigh 
awaited  their  coming,  wrapped  themselves  in  warm 
furs,  and  in  a  moment  were  speeding  across  the  ice 
behind  two  fleet  horses,  to  the  silvery  music  of  tin- 
kling bells. 

These  two  young  men  were  the  Russian  noble, 
Leonin  Ramiroff,  and  Ödön,  eldest  son  of  the  house 
of  Baradlay. 

As  the  sleigh  glided  along  the  moonlit  row  of  pal- 
aces, Ödön  remarked  to  his  companion  that  they  were 
not  going  in  the  direction  of  Kamennoi  Island. 

"  Nor  do  we  wish  to,"  returned  Leonin. 

"Why,  then,  did  you  say  we  were  going  thither.''" 

"  So  that  no  one  should  by  any  possibility  overhear 
our  real  destination." 

"  And  what,  pray,  may  that  be  ?  " 


26  r//£   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself  :  we  are  on  the  Petrofski 
Prospect,  headed  straight  for  Petrofski-Island." 

"  But  there's  nothing  there  except  hemp  factories 
and  sugar  refineries." 

"  You  are  right ;  and  we  are  going  to  call  on  a 
sugar-boiler." 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  returned  Ödön,  wrapping 
his  mantle  more  closely  about  him,  and  leaning  back 
in  his  seat.     Possibly  he  even  went  to  sleep. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  sleigh  crossed  the  Neva 
again,  and  drew  up  before  a  red  building  at  the  end 
of  a  long  park.     Leonin  aroused  his  companion. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  he. 

All  the  windows  of  the  long  factory  were  lighted 
up,  and  as  the  two  young  men  entered,  they  were 
greeted  by  that  unsavoury  odour  peculiar  to  sugar 
refineries,  and  suggestive  of  anything  but  sugar.  A 
smooth-faced  man  of  sleek  appearance  advanced  to 
meet  them,  and  asked  them  in  French  what  they 
wished. 

"To  see  the  sugar  works,"  answered  Leonin. 

"  Only  the  factory,  or  the  refinery  as  well .''  "  asked 
the  Frenchman. 

"  Only  the  refinery,"  whispered  the  other,  pressing 
a  bank-note  into  the  hand  of  his  questioner. 

"  Büíi,"  replied  the  latter,  and  pocketed  the  money. 
It  was  a  hundred-ruble  note.  "  Is  this  gentleman 
going  with  you .''  "  he  asked,  indicating  Ödön. 


TWO    GOOD   FRIENDS.  2/ 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  Leonin.  "Give  him  a 
hundred  rubles,  Ödön  :  that  is  the  entrance  fee. 
You  won't  regret  it." 

Ödön  complied,  and  the  Frenchman  then  conducted 
them  through  various  passages  and  past  doors  from 
which  issued  hot  blasts  of  air,  stifling  odours,  and  a 
fierce  hissing  of  steam.  Coming  at  last  to  a  low  iron 
portal  which  their  guide  opened  to  them  by  pressing 
a  hidden  spring,  they  passed  into  a  dimly  lighted 
passage  and  were  directed  to  go  on,  as  they  could 
now  find  their  way  unaided. 

Leonin,  as  one  well  acquainted  with  the  place,  took 
his  friend's  arm  and  led  him  forward.  They  descended 
a  wdnding  stairway,  and  as  they  went  downward 
the  clanking  of  machinery  and  hissing  of  steam  gave 
place  to  the  sound  of  distant  music.  At  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  there  sat  at  a  little  table  an  old  woman  dressed 
in  the  latest  mode.     Leonin  threw  down  a  gold  coin. 

"  Is  my  box  open  1  "  he  asked. 

She  bowed  and  smiled,  whereupon  he  advanced  to 
one  of  a  row  of  tapestry  portieres  and  held  it  aside 
for  Ödön  to  enter.  They  passed  through  another 
door  and  found  themselves  in  a  sort  of  opera-box 
whose  front  was  screened  by  a  light  grating.  The 
music  was  now  distinctly  audible. 

"  Is  this  a  theatre  or  a  circus  .-' "  asked  Ödön, 
adding,  as  he  peeped  through  the  grating,  "  or  is  it 
a  steam  bath  i"' 


28  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Leonin  laughed.  "  Anything  you  will,"  said  he, 
throwing  himself  down  on  a  divan  and  taking  up  a 
printed  sheet  that  lay  on  the  railing.  It  proved  to 
be  a  programme,  prepared  in  due  form.  He  read  it 
while  the  other  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

^^  ^  Don  Juan  an  Sérail.'  That  is  a  fine  piece  ;  too 
bad  we  missed  it.  '  Tableaux  Vivants  ' —  awfully  tire- 
some. '  Les  Bayaderes  du  Khan  AlmoUaJi ' —  exceed- 
ingly amusing  ;  I  have  seen  it  once  before.  '  La  L^ntte 
des  A mazones. '  '  La  Reve  d'A riane ' —  charming,  only 
I  don't  know  whether  Persida  is  at  her  best  to-night." 

The  door  of  the  box  opened  and  a  servant  looked  in. 

**  Waiter,  serve  us  some  refreshments,"  ordered 
Leonin. 

"  For  how  many  ?  " 

"Three." 

"  Who  is  the  third  ?  "  asked  Ödön. 

"  You  will  soon  see,  "  replied  Leonin. 

The  waiter  spread  the  table  and  brought  a  roast, 
side  dishes,  and  champagne  in  a  cooler  ;  then  he  left 
the  gentlemen  to  themselves.  Leonin  bolted  the 
door  after  him. 

"This  is  a  queer  kind  of  a  sugar  refinery," 
remarked  Ödön,  glancing  through  the  grating. 

The  other  laughed.  "  You  thought  we  only  knew 
how  to  sing  psalms,  I  suppose,"  said  he. 

"  But  such  a  resort  here  in  a  government  building  !  " 
exclaimed  Ödön. 


TIVO    GOOD   FEIEA'DS.  29 

Leonin  smiled  and  put  his  finger  on  his  lips. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  of  being  discovered?"  asked 
the  other. 

"  If  we  were  we  should  all  take  a  trip  to  Siberia." 

"  Don't  you  fear  the  musicians  may  betray  you  1  " 

*  "They  can't  see.      Every  member  of  -the  orchestra 

is  blind.     But  don't  Hsten  to  the  music.     That  is  well 

enough  for  old  gentlemen  :    something  better  is    in 

store  for  us." 

Leonin  knocked  twice  on  the  partition  wall  separa- 
ting them  from  the  next  box,  the  signal  was  repeated 
above,  and  in  a  few  minutes  a  door  opened  in  the  par- 
tition and  a  woman's  form  appeared. 

A  more  beautiful  creature  could  not  have  stepped 
out  of  the  pages  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights."  She  wore 
a  long  Persian  caftan  that  reached  to  her  ankles  and 
defined  rather  than  veiled  her  shapely  figure.  Her 
slim  waist  was  encircled  by  a  golden  girdle,  while 
around  her  neck  and  on  her  bosom  hung  strings  of 
pearls.  The  long,  flowing  sleeves  of  her  caftan  were 
slit  up  in  front  and  gathered  only  at  the  shoulder, 
thus  exposing  to  view  the  most  perfect  pair  of  arms 
ever  dreamt  of  by  sculptor.  The  face  was  of  a  noble 
Caucasian  type,  with  finely  shaped  nose,  full  lips, 
arched  eyebrows,  and  bright  eyes  of  the  deepest 
black.  The  sole  ornament  of  her  head  was  furnished 
by  two  magnificent  braids  of  hair  that  fairly  touched 
the  wearer's  heels. 


30  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

She  paused  in  surprise  on  the  threshold.  "  You 
are  not  alone,"  said  she. 

"Come  in,  Téza,"  returned  Leonin.  "This  young 
gentleman  is  one  half  of  my  soul,  of  which  you  are 
the  other  half."  So  saying,  with  a  quick  movement 
he  embraced  the  two  and  pressed  them  to  his  breas*, 
after  which  he  seated  them  side  by  side  on  another 
divan  opposite  his  own. 

"There,  Ödön,"  he  exclaimed,  "isn't  she  different 
from  those  cold  beauties  of  the  upper  world .''  Don't 
you  find  it  more  interesting  here  in  the  lower 
regions .''  " 

Jéza  met  Odon's  unmoved  inspection  of  her  charms 
with  a  sort  of  timid  wonder. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  eyes  as  those }  "  asked 
Leonin,  "  or  a  mouth  like  that,  which  can  smile, 
pout,  tease,  laugh,  beg,  and  scold,  so  that  you  don't 
know  which  best  becomes  it  .-^  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  sell  me .'' "  asked  the  Circassian 
girl. 

"  The  purchaser  would  have  to  give  me  a  new 
world  in  exchange,"  was  the  answer.  "But  if  you 
should  fall  in  love  with  one  who  is  my  friend  and 
brother,  he  should  receive  you  as  a  present." 

Jéza  sank  back  in  a  corner  of  the  divan,  lowered 
her  eyelids  and  let  her  hands  fall  into  her  lap. 

"  Ödön,  you  really  ought  to  have  been  an  animal- 
tamer,"  said  Leonin,  as  he  took  in  both  his  hands 


TPVO    GOOD   FÁ'IEiYDS.  31 

One  of  the  Circassian  girl's  dainty  little  red-slippered 
feet.  "  This  young  creature  is  naturally  wild,  impul- 
sive, talkative,  and  full  of  whims  ;  but  as  soon  as  she 
meets  the  severe  glance  of  your  wal  occJiio,  she  sub- 
sides and  sits  there  like  one  of  the  novices  in  the 
Smolna  nunnery.  Jéza,  you  are  lost.  All  of  those 
beautiful  wild  beasts  known  as  women  become  mute 
and  helpless  the  moment  this  lion-tamer  looks  at 
them." 

The  Circassian  girl  tossed  her  head  and  turned  a 
defiant  look  upon  Ödön  ;  but  no  sooner  did  she  meet 
his  eye  than  she  blushed  in  spite  of  herself  —  per- 
haps for  the  first  time  since  the  slave-dealer  at 
Yekaterinograd  had  severed  her  girdle. 

"Come,  let  us  drink,  my  children,"  cried  Leonin, 
striking  off  the  head  of  one  of  the  champagne  bottles. 
Filling  three  glasses,  he  handed  one  to  Ödön  and  one 
to  Jéza ;  and  when  they  had  half  emptied  them  he 
exchanged  and  refilled  them. 

"Drink  to  the  bottom  this  time,"  he  said.  "That 
is  right.     Now  you  have  drunk  love  to  each  other." 

The  wine  loosed  the  girl's  tongue  and  she  began 
to  chatter  in  the  liveliest  fashion.  From  the  hall  the 
notes  of  the  orchestra  reached  them,  and  she  sang  an 
accompaniment.  Ödön  sat  with  his  back  against  the 
grating  and  did  not  once  turn  around  to  see  any  of 
the  pieces  that  were  being  presented.  Leonin,  on 
the  other  hand,  looked  through  the  grating  at  every 


32  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

new  number  and  indulged  in  various  random  com- 
ments. 

"Well,  Jéza,"  he  asked  at  length,  "haven't  you 
any  number  to-night  ?  " 

"No,  I  am  having  a  holiday,"  she  replied. 

"  But  couldn't  you  oblige  my  friend  by  giving  one 
of  your  productions  .''  " 

Jéza  sat  upright  and  stole  a  look  at  Ödön.  "  If  he 
wishes  it,"  she  answered. 

"What  shall  I  ask  for.?"  asked  Ödön,  turning  to 
Leonin. 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  replied  the  latter;  "you  didn't 
know  that  Jéza  was  an  artiste,  and  above  all  things 
unexcelled  as  a  rider.  Her  number  is  always  given 
the  place  of  honour,  —  at  the  end  of  the  programme. 
Choose  any  of  her  roles." 

"  But  I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  young  lady's 
rei^ertoire,"  returned  the  other. 

"  Barbarian  !  not  to  know  Jéza's  masterpieces  after 
living  for  half  a  year  in  a  civilised  country.  Well, 
I'll  name  the  best  ones  to  you.  *  La  Reinc  Amala- 
SHutJic ;'  ^ La  Diablcsse ;'  ^ Étoile  qui  File;'  'La 
Bayadh'e  ;  '  '  La  Nyniphe  TriompJiante  ;  '  '  Diane 
qui  Chasse  ActcBon  ;  '   '  Mazeppa  '  —  " 

"  No,  that  is  not  among  them  !  "  cried  the  girl, 
interrupting  the  speaker. 

"Ödön,  don't  let  her  fool  you,"  said  Leonin; 
"  choose  Ma —  " 


TWO   GOOD   FRIENDS.  33 

But  he  was  stopped  by  Jéza,  who  had  sprung 
from  her  seat  and  was  holding  her  hand  over  his 
mouth.  He  struggled  to  free  himself,  but  mean- 
while Ödön  ended  the  contest  by  making  his 
choice. 

"  Mazeppa !  "  he  called,  and  Jéza  turned  her  back 
to  them  both  in  a  pet  and  leaned  against  the  wall. 
Leonin,  however,  gained  his  point. 

"  You  have  always  refused  me  that,"  said  he  ;  "  but 
I  told  you  the  time  would  come  when  you  would  have 
to  yield." 

The  girl  threw  a  look  at  Ödön.  "  Very  well,  then  ; 
it  shall  be  done."     And  therewith  she  disappeared. 

Ödön  now  turned  his  attention  for  the  first  time  to 
the  arena,  a  vaulted  space  of  sixty  yards  in  diameter, 
half  enclosed  by  a  semicircle  of  grated  boxes.  No 
spectators  were  to  be  seen,  but  the  cigar-smoke  that 
made  its  way  through  the  gratings  betrayed  their 
presence.  The  side  of  the  arena  unenclosed  by 
boxes  was  draped  with  hangings  on  which  were 
depicted  various  mythological  scenes,  while  an  occa- 
sional door  broke  up  the  wall-space  and  relieved  the 
monotony. 

For  a  few  minutes  after  Jéza's  exit  from  Leonin's 
box  the  arena  was  quite  empty,  save  that  two  Moorish 
girls  in  Turkish  costume  were  busy  smoothing  the 
sand,  —  a  sign  that  an  equestrian  act  was  to  follow. 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Leonin's  box, 


34  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

and  he  went  to  open  it.  A  servant  stood  without, 
bearing  a  letter  on  a  silver  tray. 

"  What  have  you  there  }  "  asked  Leonin. 

"A  letter  for  the  other  gentleman,  sir." 

"  How  did  it  come  .'*  " 

"A  courier  brought  it,  sir,  with  instructions  to  find 
the  gentleman  without  delay,  wherever  he  might  be." 

"  Fee  the  courier  and  send  him  away." 

Leonin  .took  the  letter  and  fingered  it  a  moment. 
Its  seal  was  black  and  its  address  was  in  a  woman's 
hand. 

"  Here  is  a  billet-doux  for  you,"  said  he,  as  he 

handed  the  letter  to  Ödön.     "  The  Princess  N 

sends  you  word  that  she  has  taken  arsenic  because 
you  failed  to  claim  her  hand  for  the  quadrille."  With 
that  he  turned  to  the  grating  and  drew  out  his  opera- 
glass,  as  if  resolved  not  to  lose  a  moment  of  Jéza's 
impersonation  of  Mazeppa ;  but  he  added,  over  his 
shoulder,  to  Ödön  :  "  You  see,  in  spite  of  my  pre- 
cautions, we  failed  to  cover  our  tracks.  Oh,  these 
women  have  a  thousand-eyed  police  in  their  service,  I 
verily  believe.     They  have  us  watched  at  every  turn." 

The  overture  began.  At  the  ringing  of  a  bell  the 
blind  musicians  struck  up  the  Mazeppa  galop.  Be- 
hind the  scenes  could  be  heard  the  barking  of  the 
dogs  which,  as  a  substitute  for  wolves,  were  to  pur- 
sue Mazeppa  as  he  was  borne  away,  fast  bound  upon 
a  wild  horse's  back  ;  and  the  cracking  of  whips  also 


TWO    GOOD   FRIENDS.  35 

sounded,  arousing  the  horse  to  a  HveHer  display  of  his 
mettle.  Finally  the  beating  of  the  animal's  hoofs 
was  heard,  a  loud  outcry  was  raised,  and  Mazeppa's 
wild  ride  began  amid  cheers  and  hand-clapping  from 
behind  the  gratings. 

"Oh,  beautiful!  Infernally  beautiful!"  exclaimed 
Leonin,  "  Look,  Ödön,  look !  See  there ! "  But 
what  did  he  behold  as  he  turned  his  head  for  an  in- 
stant toward  his  friend .-' 

Ödön's  hand  was  over  his  eyes  and  he  was  weeping. 

"What  is  the  matter .-' "  cried  the  other  in  amaze- 
ment. Ödön  handed  him  the  letter  without  a 
word,  and  he  read  its  brief  contents,  which  were  in 
French. 

"  Your  father  is  dead.     Come  at  once. 

"  Your  affectionate  Mother." 

Leonin's  first  impulse  was  one  of  resentment.  "  I'd 
like  to  get  hold  of  that  blockhead  of  a  courier  who 
brought  you  this  letter.  Couldn't  he  have  waited 
till  morning .-' " 

But  Ödön  arose  without  a  word  and  left  the  box. 
Leonin  followed  him. 

"Poor  fellow!"  he  exclaimed,  seizing  his  friend's 
hand.     "This  letter  came  very  mal á propose 

"Excuse  me,"  returned  the  other;  "I  must  go 
home." 


36  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,"  was  the  hearty  response. 
"  Let  those  stay  and  see  Mazeppa  who  care  to.  We 
promised  that  we  would  go  with  each  other  to  hell,  to 
heaven  —  and  home.     So  I  shall  go  with  you." 

<'But  I  am  going  home  to  Hungary,"  said  Ödön. 

Leonin  started.      "  Oh,  to  Hungary  !  " 

"  My  mother  calls  me,"  explained  the  other,  with 
the  simple  brevity  of  one  overcome  with  grief. 

"  When  do  you  start .-'  " 

"  Immediately." 

Leonin  shook  his  head  incredulously.  "That  is 
simply  madness,"  he  declared.  "  Do  you  wish  to 
freeze  to  death  ?  Hero  in  the  city  it  is  twenty  degrees 
below  zero,  and  out  in  the  open  country  it  is  at  least 
twenty-five.  Between  Smolensk  and  Moscow  the 
roads  are  impassable,  so  much  snow  has  fallen.  In 
Russia  no  one  travels  in  winter  except  mail-carriers 
and  tradesmen." 

"  Nevertheless  I  shall  start  at  once,"  was  the  calm 
rejoinder. 

"  Surely  your  mother  wouldn't  have  you  attempt 
the  impossible.  Where  you  live  they  have  no  con- 
ception what  it  means  to  travel  in  midwinter  from  St. 
Petersburg  to  the  Carpathians.  .  Wait  at  least  till  the 
roads  are  open." 

"No,  Leonin,"  returned  Ödön,  sadly;  "every  hour 
that  I  waited  would  be  a  reproach  to  my  conscience. 
You  don't  understand  how  I  feel." 


riVO    GOOD   FRIENDS.  37 

"Well,  then,"  replied  the  other,  "let  us  go  to  your 
rooms." 

Reaching  his  quarters,  Ödön  first  awakened  his 
valet  and  bade  him  pack  his  master's  trunk  and 
pay  whatever  accounts  were  owing.  Then,  so  great 
was  the  young  man's  haste,  he  proceeded  to  build  a 
fire  with  his  own  hands  rather  than  wait  for  his  servant 
to  do  it.  Meanwhile  Leonin  had  thrown  himself 
into  an  easy  chair  and  was  watching  his  friend's  move- 
ments. 

"  Are  you  really  in  earnest  about  starting  this  very 
day  V  he  asked. 

"You  see  I  am,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  won't  you  delay  your  departure  to  please 
me,  or  even  at  the  Czar's  request }  " 

"  I  love  you  and  respect  the  Czar,  but  my  mother's 
wishes  take  precedence  of  all  else." 

"  Very  well ;  so  that  appeal  will  not  serve.  But 
I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you.  My  betrothed,  Prin- 
cess   Alexandra,    is    desperately    in    love    with   you. 


She  is  the  only  daughter  of  a  magnate  who  is 
ten  times  as  rich  as  you.  She  is  beautiful,  and 
she  is  good,  but  she  does  not  care  for  me,  because 
she  loves  you.  She  has  confessed  as  much  to  me. 
Were  it  any  one  else  that  stood  in  my  way,  I 
would  challenge  him  ;  but  I  love  you  more  than  my 
own  brother.  Marry  her  and  remain  here  with 
us." 


38  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

Ödön  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  I  am  going  home  to 
my  mother." 

"Then,  Heaven  help  me!  I  am  going  with  you," 
declared  the  young  Russian.  "  I  shall  not  let  you  set 
out  on  such  a  journey  alone." 

The  two  embraced  each  other  warmly,  and  Leonin 
hastened  away  to  make  preparations  for  the  journey. 
He  despatched  couriers  to  order  relays  of  horses, 
together  with  drivers,  at  all  the  stations  ;  he  loaded 
his  travelling-sledge  with  all  kinds  of  provisions,  — 
smoked  meat,  smoked  fish,  biscuits,  caviare,  and 
brandy  ;  a  tea-kettle  and  a  spirit-lamp  were  provided  ; 
two  good  polar-bear  skins,  foot-bags,  and  fur  caps 
for  himself  and  his  friend  were  procured ;  and 
he  also  included  in  their  equipment  two  good 
rifles,  as  well  as  a  brace  of  pistols  and  a  Greek  dag- 
ger for  each  of  them,  —  since  all  these  things  were 
likely  to  prove  useful  on  the  way.  He  even  had 
the  forethought  to  pack  two  pairs  of  skates, 
that  they  might,  when  they  came  to  a  stream, 
race  with  each  other  over  the  ice  and  thus  warm 
their  benumbed  feet.  The  space  under  the  front 
seat  he  filled  with  cigars  enough  to  last  them 
throughout  their  twenty  days'  journey.  When 
at  length,  as  twilight  was  falling,  he  drove  up 
with  a  merry  jingle  of  bells  before  Ödön's  lodg- 
ing, he  felt  himself  thoroughly  equipped  for  the 
journey.       But     first    he     had    to     dress   his    friend 


TWO    GOOD    FRIENDS.  39 

from  top  to  toe,  knowing  well  from  experience 
how  one  should  be  attired  for  a  winter  jom'ney 
in  Russia. 

The  Russian  sledge  stood  ready  at  the  door,  its  run- 
ners well  shod,  its  body  covered  with  buffalo-hide,  the 
front  sheltered  by  a  leather  hood,  and  the  rear  pro- 
tected by  a  curtain  of  yet  thicker  leather.  Three 
horses  were  harnessed  abreast,  the  middle  one  stand- 
ing between  the  thills,  which  were  hung  with  bells. 
The  driver  stood  with  his  short-handled,  long-lashed 
whip  before  the  horses. 

The  young  Russian  stopped  his  friend  a  moment 
before  they  took  their  places  in  the  sledge.  "  Here, 
take  this  amulet,"  said  he;  "my  mother  gave  it  to 
me  on  her  death-bed,  assuring  me  it  would  shield 
the  wearer  from  every  danger." 

The  trinket  was  a  small  round  cameo  cut  out  of 
mother-of-pearl  and  set  in  gold  ;  it  represented  St. 
George  and  the  dragon.  Ödön  felt  unwilling  to 
accept  the  gift. 

"Thank  you,"  said  he,  "but  I  have  no  faith  in 
charms.  I  only  trust  to  my  stars,  and  they  are  — 
loving  woman's  eyes." 

Leonin  grasped  his  friend's  hands.  "Answer  me 
one  question  :  do  you  see  two  eyes  or  four  among 
your  stars .'' " 

Ödön  paused  a  moment,  then  pressed  his  com- 
rade's hand  and  answered,  "Four." 


40  THE    BARON'S  SONS. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Leonin,  and  he  helped  his 
companion  into  the  sledge. 

The  driver  pulled  each  of  his  horses  by  the  fore- 
lock, kissed  all  three  on  the  cheek,  crossed  himself, 
and  then  took  his  place  on  the  front  seat.  In  a 
moment  more  the  sledge  was  flying  through  the 
snow-covered  streets  on  its  way  southward. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    TWO    OTHERS. 

"The  King  of  Hungary"  was,  at  the  time  of  our 
narrative,  one  of  the  fineit  hotels  in  Vienna,  and 
much  frequented  by  aristocratic  Hungarian  travel- 
lers and  by  Hungarian  army  officers. 

A  young  hussar  officer  was  ascending  the  stairs 
to  the  second  story.  He  was  a  handsome,  well-built, 
broad-shouldered  youth,  and  his  uniform  fitted  his 
athletic  figure  well.  His  cheeks  were  ruddy,  his  face 
full,  and  on  his  upper  lip  he  wore  a  mustache,  the 
ends  of  which  pointed  upward  with  a  sprightly  air. 
His  cap  was  tilted  well  forward  over  his  eyes,  and  he 
carried  his  head  as  proudly  as  if  he  had  been  the  only 
captain  of  horse  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

On  reaching  the  landing  his  attention  was  arrested 
by  a  strange  scene  in  the  passageway  leading  to  one 
of  the  guest-chambers.  An  old  gentleman  with  a 
smooth  face,  and  wearing  a  peasant's  cloak,  was  vocif- 
erating wrathfully  before  three  waiters  and  a  cham- 
bermaid. Both  the  waiters  and  the  chambermaid 
were  exerting  themselves  with  every  demonstration 
41 


42  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

of  respect  to  gratify  his  slightest  wish,  which  only  in- 
creased the  old  gentleman's  anger,  and  caused  him 
to  renew  his  scolding,  now  in  Hungarian,  and  now  in 
Latin.  Catching  sight  of  the  hussar,  who  had  been 
brought  to  a  standstill  by  the  clamour,  he  called  to 
him  in  Hungarian  —  feeling  sure  that  no  hussar  could 
be  of  any  other  nationality  —  and  begged  his  assist- 
ance. 

"My  dear  Captain,"  he  cried,  "do  have  the  good- 
ness to  come  here,  and  explain  matters  to  these 
hyperboreans,  who  seem  to  understand  no  language 
that  I  can  speak." 

The  officer  approached,  and  perceived  that  his  in- 
terlocutor was,  to  all  appearances,  a  minister  of  the 
gospel. 

"  Well,  reverend  father,  what  is  the  trouble  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Why,  you  see,"  explained  the  other,  "  my  pass- 
port describes  me  rightly  enough,  in  Latin,  as  verbi 
divini  minister,  that  is,  a  preacher  of  God's  word. 
Well,  now,  when  it  came  my  turn  to  show  my  papers 
to  the  custom-house  officer,  they  all  began  to  salute 
me,  as  if  I  had  been  a  minister  of  state,  calling  me 
'your  Excellency,'  and  paying  me  every  sort  of  com- 
pliment, right  and  left,  —  porters,  cab-drivers,  waiters, 
and  all.  I  thought  they  would  kiss  the  ground  I 
stood  on  before  I  was  at  last  shown  up  to  this  splen- 
did apartment.     Now  this  style  is  more  than  I  can 


THE    TWO    OTHERS.  43 

afford.  I  am  only  a  poor  pastor,  and  I  have  come  to 
Vienna  not  for  pleasure,  but  forced  by  necessity. 
Pray  explain  matters  for  me  to  these  people.  I  can't 
speak  German,  it  is  never  used  at  home  among  our 
people,  and  no  one  here  seems  to  understand  any 
other  language." 

The  hussar  officer  smiled. 

"Good  father,"  he  asked,  "what  languages  do  you 
speak  .-* " 

"Well,"  was  the  reply,  "I  can  speak  Latin,  Greek, 
Hebrew,  and,  in  case  of  need,  some  Arabic." 

"They  willTiardly  be  of  any  service  here,"  rejoined 
the  other,  laughing.  Then,  turning  to  the  head  waiter, 
he  asked  him  a  question  in  a  low  tone,  to  which  the 
servant  replied  by  winking  mysteriously  and  pointing 
upward. 

"Well,  reverend  father,"  said  the  hussar  to  the 
poor  priest,  "  you  go  into  your  room  now,  and  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  I  will  return  and  arrange  every- 
thing for  you.  Just  now  I  am  in  haste,  as  some  one 
is  waiting  for  me." 

"  But,  I  beg  to  assure  you,  my  business  is  even 
more  pressing  than  yours,"  was  the  other's  reply,  as 
he  seized  the  young  officer's  sword-tassel  to  prevent 
his  escape.  "  If  I  so  much  as  set  foot  in  this  state 
apartment,  it  will  cost  me  five  florins  at  least." 

"  But,  sir,"  explained  the  other,  apologetically,  "  my 
affair  is  far  more  important.     Five  comrades  of  mine 


44  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

are  expecting  me  in  the  room  above,  and  one  of  them 
is  to  fight  with  me.     I  really  cannot  wait." 

The  priest  was  so  startled  by  this  announcement 
that  he  dropped  the  sword-tassel. 

"What !  "  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  on  your  way  to  a 
duel  .'*    Pray  tell  me  the  reason  of  such  a  piece  of  folly." 

But  the  young  man  only  pressed  his  hand  with 
a  smile.  "  You  wait  here  quietly  till  I  come  back," 
said  he.     "  I  shall  not  be  gone  long." 

"  Supposing  you  are  slain  ? "  the  old  gentleman 
called  after  him,  in  great  anxiety. 

"  I'll  look  out  for  that,"  replied  the  hussar,  as  he 
sprang  blithely  up  the  stairs,  clinking  his  spurs  as 
he  went. 

The  old  priest  was  forced  to  take  possession  of  the 
splendid  apartment,  while  the  whole  retinue  of  ser- 
vants still  persisted  in  honouring  him  with  the  title, 
"your  Excellency." 

"This  is  fine,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  good  man  to 
himself,  as  he  surveyed  his  surroundings.  "  Silk  bed- 
curtains,  porcelain  stove  —  why,  I  shall  have  to  pay 
five  florins  a  day,  if  not  six.  And  then  all  the  good- 
for-nothing  servants  !  One  brings  my  valise,  another 
a  pitcher  of  water,  a  third  the  bootjack,  and  each  one 
counts  on  receiving  a  good  big  fee  from  'his  Excel- 
lency.' I  shall  be  expected  to  pay  for  the  extra  polish 
on  the  floor,  too." 

Thus  grumbling  and  scolding,  and  estimating  how 


THE    TWO    OTHERS.  45 

much  all  this  splendour  would  probably  cost  him  in 
the  end,  the  priest  suddenly  heard  a  stamping  of  feet, 
and  a  clashing  of  swords  in  the  room  above.  The 
duellists  were  surely  at  it  over  his  very  head.  Now 
here,  now  there,  he  heard  the  heavy  footsteps,  accom" 
panied  by  the  ringing  of  steel  against  steel.  For  five 
or  six  minutes  the  sounds  continued,  the  poor  parson 
meanwhile  in  great  perplexity  as  to  what  course  he 
ought  to  pursue.  He  felt  half  inclined  to  open  the 
window  and  call  for  help,  but  immediately  bethought 
himself  that  he  might  be  arrested  by  the  police  for 
disturbing  the  peace.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  to  run 
up-stairs,  throw  himself  between  the  combatants,  and 
deliver  them  a  sermon  on  the  text  (Matt.  26:  52): 
"  Put  up  again  thy  sword  into  his  place  :  for  all  they 
that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword." 
But  while  he  was  still  debating  the  matter  the  tu- 
mult over  his  head  subsided,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 
heard  steps  approaching  his  door,  which  opened  and 
admitted,  to  his  great  relief,  the  young  hussar  officer, 
safe  and  sound. 

The  priest  ran  to  him  and  felt  of  his  arms  and 
breast,  to  make  sure  that  he  had  actually  received  no 
injury.  "Aren't  you  hurt,  then,  in  the  least.'"'  he 
inquired. 

"  Of  course  not,  good  father,"  replied  the  other. 

"  But  did  you  slay  your  opponent  .''  " 

"Oh,  I  scratched  him  a  little  on  the  cheek." 


46  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"  And  is  he  not  in  great  pain  ? "  asked  the  kind- 
hearted  pastor,  with  much  concern. 

"  Not  at  all ;  he  is  as  pleased  over  his  wound  as  a 
boy  with  a  new  jacket." 

But  the  minister  of  the  gospel  found  the  matter  no 
subject  for  light  treatment.  "  How,  pray,  can  you 
gentlemen  indulge  in  such  unchristian  practices .'' " 
he  asked,  earnestly.  "  What  motive  can  you  possibly 
have  ? " 

"My  dear  sir,"  returned  the  other,  "have  you  ever 
heard  the  story  of  the  two  officers  who  fought  a  duel 
because  one  of  them  maintained  that  he  had  picked 
sardines  from  a  tree  in  Italy,  and  the  other  refused 
to  believe  him  .'*  So  they  fought  it  out,  and  it  was 
only  after  the  first  had  received  a  slash  across 
the  face  that  he  remembered,  —  '■  Ah,  yes,  quite 
right ;  they  were  not  sardines,  after  all,  but  ca- 
pers.' So  here  you  may  imagine  some  such  cause 
as  that." 

"And  you  fought  for  such  a  trifle!"  exclaimed 
the  pastor. 

"  Yes,  something  of  the  sort,  if  I  remember 
rightly.  You  see,  I  have  just  joined  the  regiment 
after  serving  in  the  life-guard,  and  I  have  been 
promoted  captain ;  so  I  must  fight  witli"  a  dozen 
comrades  in  succession,  until  they  either  cut  me  to 
pieces  or  learn  to  endure  my  presence  among  them. 
That  is  the  custom.     But  let  us  discuss  your  affairs 


THE    TWO   OTHERS.  47 

now.     You  said  you  were  here  on  urgent  business  ; 
pray  tell  me  its  nature." 

"  Certainly,"  responded  the  other  ;  "  if  you  will  have 
the  kindness  to  hear  me,  I  shall  be  most  grateful.  I 
am  an  entire  stranger  in  the  city  and  have  no  one  to 
render  me  any  assistance.  I  have  been  summoned 
hither  ad  aiidietidtim  verbum,  having  had  some  differ- 
ences with  the  landlord  of  the  village  where  I  am 
settled  as  pastor.  You  must  first  understand  that 
the  squire  was  a  great  oligarch,  while  I  am  nothing 
but  a  poor  country  parson.  There  was  discord  be- 
tween our  families,  arising  from  the  squire's  having 
a  young  cavalier  as  his  eldest  son  and  my  having  a 
pretty  daughter.  I  refused  to  listen  to  certain  pro- 
posals on  the  part  of  the  squire,  and  the  upshot  was 
that  the  son  was  sent  away  to  Russia.  That,  how- 
ever, did  not  greatly  concern  me.  But  not  long  after- 
ward the  squire  departed  this  life  and  was  buried 
with  all  the  pomp  of  the  Church.  I  made  the  prayer 
at  the  grave,  and  it  is  true,  I  said  some  hard  things ; 
but  what  I  said  was  for  God's  ear,  not  for  man's. 
And  now,  because  of  that  prayer  of  mine  to  Heaven, 
I  am  called  to  account  by  the  mighty  ones  of  this 
earth.  Already  I  have  appeared  before  the  consistory 
and  before  the  county  court,  accused  of  impiety  and 
sedition.  I  am  expelled  from  my  pastorate,  and  yet 
they  are  not  content  ;  they  summon  me  hither,  I 
know  not   before  whom,   to    answer  the    charge    of 


48  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Ihe-majesté.  But  see  here  and  judge  for  yourself ; 
I  have  the  text  of  the  prayer  in  my  pocket.  Read 
it  and  see  whether  it  contains  a  single  word  by  which 
I  have  made  myself  guilty  of  any  such  offence." 

The  old  man's  lips  trembled  as  he  spoke,  and  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  The  hussar  took  the  writing 
from  his  hand  and  read  it  through,  the  other  watching 
meanwhile  every  line  of  the  young  man's  face,  to  see 
what  impression  the  perusal  would  make  on  him. 

"Well,  sir,  what  do  you  say  to  it.?"  he  asked 
when  the  young  officer  had  finished  reading. 
"Would  you  condemn  me  for  anything  in  that 
prayer .''  " 

The  other  folded  the  paper  and  returned  it  to  the 
old  man.  "  I  should  not  condemn  you,"  he  replied 
gently.     He  appeared  to  be  much  moved. 

"Now  may  God  bless  you  for  those  words!" 
exclaimed  the  priest.  "  Would  that  you  were  my 
judge  !  " 

And,  indeed,  he  was  his  judge  at  that  moment ; 
for  he  was  no  other  than  Richard  Baradlay,  the  son 
of  him  over  whose  body  the  prayer  had  been  offered. 

"  But  let  me  give  your  Reverence  a  piece  of 
advice,"  added. the  young  man.  "First,  stay  here 
quietly  in  your  room  until  you  are  summoned.  Visit 
no  one  and  make  your  complaint  to  no  one.  You 
cannot  be  found  guilty  of  the  offence  charged  against 
you.     But  if  you  should  undertake  to  defend  yourself, 


THE    TWO   OTHERS.  49 

I  could  not  answer  for  the  consequences.  Just  stay 
here  in  your  room,  and  if  you  are  sent  for,  answer  the 
summons.  Go  whither  you  are  called,  and  hear  in 
silence  what  is  said  to  you.  When  that  is  over,  bow 
yourself  out  and  hasten  back  to  your  hotel  without 
saying  a  word  to  any  one  on  the  way  or  answer- 
ing a  single  question." 

"But  I  shall  be  taken  for  a  blockhead,"  objected 
the  other. 

"  No,  believe  me,  silence  is  a  passport  that  will 
carry  a  man  half-way  around  the  world." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  do  as  you  direct  ;  only  I  hope 
the  process  will  be  brief.  The  Vienna  air  is  costly  to 
breathe." 

"  Don't  worry  in  the  least  about  that,  reverend 
father.  If  some  one  has  compelled  you  to  make  the 
journey  against  your  will,  you  may  be  sure  he  will 
pay  your  score." 

The  old  man  wondered  not  a  little  at  these  words, 
and  would  gladly  have  inquired  who  the  unknown 
"some  one  "  was. 

"  But  now  my  engagements  call  me  away,"  con- 
cluded the  young  officer,  and  he  took  his  leave  before 
the  other  could  question  him  further. 

Soon  after  he  had  gone  a  waiter  appeared  with 
coffee,  which,  in  spite  of  the  old  priest's  protestations 
that  he  never  took  any  breakfast  and  was  in  general 
a  very  light  eater,  the  German  domestic  insisted  on 


50  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

leaving  upon  the  table.  At  length,  as  the  coffee  was 
there  on  his  hands,  the  reverend  gentleman  proceeded 
to  drink  it  in  God's  name  ;  for  it  would  have  to  be 
paid  for  in  any  case.  The  warm  breakfast  did  him 
good.  The  servant  now  appeared,  to  carry  away  the 
breakfast  service.  The  old  gentleman  had  learned  one 
German  word  on  his  journey,  and  he  hastened  to 
make  use  of  it. 

"  Pay } "  he  said  inquiringly,  producing  from  the 
depths  of  his  pocket  a  long  knit  purse,  a  birthday  pres- 
ent from  his  daughter,  in  which  his  scanty  savings 
were  carefully  hoarded.  He  wished  to  settle  at  once 
for  his  breakfast,  both  because  it  troubled  him  to  be 
in  debt  for  even  an  hour,  and  also  that  he  might  gain 
some  idea  from  this  first  payment  how  much  his  total 
daily  expenses  would  probably  be. 

Great  was  his  surprise,  however,  when  the  waiter, 
smiling  politely  and  waving  aside  the  offered  purse, 
assured  him  that  the  breakfast  was  already  paid  for. 

"  So  that  young  man  was  right,  after  all,"  said  the 
good  priest  to  himself.  "  Why  didn't  I  ask  him  his 
name  .''     But  who  can  it  be  that  is  paying  my  bills .'' " 

,^Xhe — nnVnnwp  benefactor  was,  of  course,  none 
other  than  Richard  Baradlay,  who,  on  leaving  the 
hotel,  had  handed  theHiead  waiter  two  ducats  and 
bidden  him  provide  for  all  the  old  gentleman's  wants, 
adding  that  he,  Baradlay.  would  pay  the  bill.  After 
that  the  young  officer  repaired  to  the  military  riding 


THE    TWO    OTHERS.  5 1 

school  and  exercised  for  an  hour  in  vaulting,  fencing 
on  horseback,  breaking  a  lance  or  two,  and  mastering 
a  vicious  horse.  Then  he  went  to  walk  for  an  hour 
around  the  fortifications,  looked  at  all  the  pretty  faces 
he  met,  and  at  length,  toward  noon,  returned  to  his 
quarters.  He  kept  bachelor's  hall  on  the  fourth  floor, 
occupying  a  sitting-room  and  a  bedroom,  while  across 
the  passageway  was  a  little  room  for  his  servant,  and 
a  diminutive  kitchen. 

His  domestic  was  an  old  hussar  who  answered  to 
the  name  of  Paul,  and  who  was  rather  more  inclined 
to  command  his  master  than  to  receive  orders  from 
him.  He  was  sixty  years  old  and  more,  and  still  a 
private  and  a  bachelor.  He  was  serving  out  his 
fourth  enlistment  and  wore  on  his  breast  the  cross 
given  to  the  veterans  of  the  Napoleonic  wars. 

"Well,  Paul,  what  is  there  to  eat  to-day  .'' "  asked 
the  captain,  unbuckling  his  sword  and  hanging  it 
up  in  his  closet,  which  showed  a  collection  of  ancient 
swords  and  daggers. 

The  reader  must  here  be  informed  that  Paul  was 
at  once  body-servant  and  cook  to  his  young  master. 

"What  is  there  to  eat.''  A  Greek  rose-garland," 
answered  the  old  servant,  with  humourous  phlegm. 

"  Ah,  that  must  be  delicious,"  returned  Richard ; 
"  but  what  is  it  made  of  .^  " 

"Angels'  slippers,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Excellent !     And  is  it  ready  t  " 


52  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Paul  surveyed  his  master  from  top  to  toe.  *•  Do 
we  eat  at  home  again  to-day  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  if  we  can  get  anything  to  eat." 

"Very  well ;  I  will  serve  dinner  at  once,"  answered 
Paul,  and  he  proceeded  to  spread  the  table  —  which 
was  accomplished  by  turning  its  red  cloth,  orna- 
mented with  blue  flowers,  so  that  it  became  a  blue 
cloth  adorned  with  red  flowers.  Then  he  laid  a  plate 
of  faience  ware  and  a  horn-handled  knife  and  fork, 
together  with  an  old-fashioned  silver  spoon,  first  wip- 
ing each  article  on  a  corner  of  the  table-cloth. '  He 
completed  these  preparations  by  adding  an  old  cham- 
pagne-bottle filled,  as  the  reader  will  have  guessed, 
with  cold  water. 

The  cavalry  captain  pulled  up  a  chair  and  seated 
himself  comfortably,  stretching  his  legs  out  under  the 
table.  Meanwhile  Paul,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  thus 
addressed  his  master : 

"  So  we  are  stranded  again,  are  we, —  not  a  kreut- 
zer  in  our  pockets  'Í  " 

"  Not  a  solitary  one,  as  sure  as  you  live,"  answered 
Richard,  as  he  took  up  his  knife  and  fork  and  began 
to  beat  a  tattoo  on  his  plate. 

"  But  this  morning  I  found  two  ducats  in  your  vest 
pocket,"  remarked  the  old  servant. 

Captain  Richard  laughed  and  asked,  in  expressive 
pantomime  :  "  Where  are  they  now  }" 

"  Good  !  "   muttered  the  other,  as  he  took  up  the 


THE    TWO   OTHERS.  53 

decanter  that  stood  before  his  master's  plate  and 
went  out.  Having  brought  it  back  filled  with  wine, 
which  he  had  procured  in  some  way,  he  set  it  down 
again  and  resumed  his  discourse. 

"  No  doubt  they  went  to  buy  a  bouquet  for  a 
pretty  girl,"  said  he.  "Or  have  the  boys  drunk  them 
up  in  champagne  .-' "  With  that  he  took  up  a  plate 
with  a  sadly  nicked  edge  from  the  sideboard  and 
added,  with  philosophic  resignation,  as  he  went  out : 
"Well,  I  was  just  that  way  when  I  was  young." 
Soon  he  returned,  bearing  his  master's  dinner. 

The  "  Greek  rose-garland  "  proved  to  be  a  dish  of 
beans,  while  the  "angels' slippers,"  cooked  with  them, 
were  nothing  but  pigs'  feet.  The  old  hussar  had  pre- 
pared the  meal  for  himself,  but  there  was  enough  for 
two,  and  Richard  attacked  the  camp  fare  with  as  keen 
a  relish  as  if  he  had  never  known  anything  better  in 
his  life.  While  he  ate,  his  old  servant  stood  behind 
his  chair,  although  his  services  were  not  needed,  as 
there  were  no  plates  to  change,  the  first  course 
being  also  the  last. 

"  Has  any  one  called  ?  "  asked  Richard  as  he  ate. 

"  Any  one  called .''  Why,  yes,  we  have  had  some 
callers." 

"  Who  were  they  }  " 

"  First  the  maid-servant  of  the  actress  —  not  the 
blonde  one,  but  the  other,  the  pug-nosed  one.  She 
brought    a   bouquet  and  a  letter.      I  stuck  the  flow- 


54  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

ers  into  a  pitcher  in  the  kitchen,  gave  the  maid  a 
pinch  on  the  cheek,  and  kindled  the  fire  with  the 
letter." 

"  The  deuce  take  you  !  "  exclaimed  Richard  ;  "  what 
made  you  burn  up  the  letter  ?  " 

"  It  asked  for  money  from  the  captain,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  But  how  did  you  know  that,  Paul .''  I  thought 
you  couldn't  read." 

"  I  smelt  it." 

Richard  laughed  aloud.  "  Well,  who  else  has  been 
here  .-'  "  he  asked. 

"The  young  gentleman."  This  title  was  always 
used  by  Paul  to  designate  one  particular  person. 

"  My  brother  }     What  did  he  wish  1  " 

As  if  in  answer  to  this  inquiry,  the  young  gentle- 
man suddenly  appeared  in  person. 

The  youngest  Baradlay  was  a  slender  youth  of  frail 
physique.  On  his  smooth,  boyish  face  sat  a  some- 
what affected  expression  of  amiability,  and  if  he 
carried  his  head  rather  high,  it  was  not  from  pride, 
but  on  account  of  the  eye-glasses  which  he  wore  on 
his  nose.  As  he  shook  hands  with  his  older  brother, 
the  latter  was  somehow  reminded  of  the  regulation 
that  requires  certain  government  officials,  as  a  part  of 
their  duties,  to  show  the  utmost  courtesy  to  every  one 
—  ex  officio. 

"Your  servant,  Jeno.      What's  up  now  .?  " 


THE   TWO    OTHERS. 


55 


"  I  came  to  tell  you,"  replied  the  other,  "  that  I 
have  received  a  letter  from  mother." 

"I  received  one,  too,"  said  Richard, 

"She  informs  me,"  continued  Jenő,  "that  she  is 
going  to  double  my  monthly  allowance,  and,  in  order 
to  enable  me  to  fit  up  my  rooms  as  becomes  one  of 
my  rank,  she  sends  me  a  thousand  florins." 

"And  she  writes  to  me,"  said  the  older  brother, 
"that  if  I  continue  to  spend  money  as  I  have  in  the 
past,  I  shall  soon  run  through  my  share  of  the  prop- 
erty ;  and  unless  I  am  more  economical  she  will  send 
me  no  more  funds." 

"But  my  difficulty,"  rejoined  the  other,  "is  that 
if  I  begin  now  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  money, 
those  over  me  will  notice  it.  You  can't  imagine 
how  one  is  made  to  suffer  for  it  when  once  his  supe- 
riors in  the  government  service  begin  to  suspect 
him  of  playing  the  independent  gentleman.  Really, 
I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do.  Look  here,  Rich- 
ard ;  do  you  know  what  I  came  for  this  morning  1  I 
came  to  share  with  you  the  money  that  mother  sent 
me." 

The  other  continued  to  chew  his  toothpick.  "  What 
interest .? "  he  asked. 

"  Don't  insult  me  with  such  a  question !  "  protested 
Jenő. 

"  Then  you  offer  to  divide  with  me  simply  because 
you  don't  know  how  to  spend  the  money  yourself  and 


56  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

want  my  help  in  getting  rid  of  it  ?  Good  !  I  am  at 
your  service." 

"  I  thought  you  could  make  a  better  use  of  it  than 
I,"  said  the  youth,  handing  over  the  half  of  his  thou- 
sand florins,  and  pressing  his  brother's  hand  as  he  did 
so.  "  I  have  something  else  to  give  you  also,"  he 
added,  with  assumed  indifference,  — "  an  invitation 
to  the  Plankenhorsts'  reception  to-morrow  evening." 

Richard  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  regarded 
his  brother  with  a  satirical  smile.  "  How  long  have 
you  been  acting  as  advertising  agent  of  the  Planken- 
horst  receptions  }  "  he  asked. 

"They  begged  me  most  cordially  to  invite  you  in 
their  name,"  returned  the  other,  moving  uneasily  in 
his  chair. 

Richard  laughed  aloud.  "  So  that  is  the  usury  I 
am  to  pay  .-'  "  said  he. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that } "  asked  Jenő,  with 
vexation,  rising  from  his  seat. 

"  I  mean  that  you  would  like  to  pay  your  court  to 
Miss  Alfonsine  if  her  mother,  who  considers  you  a 
very  raw  youth  as  yet,  were  not  in  the  way.  Madame 
Antoinette  herself  claims  to  be  not  devoid  of  personal 
charms,  and,  if  her  friseur  is  to  be  believed,  she  is 
still  a  beautiful  woman.  When  I  was  in  the  guard 
I  used  to  dance  with  her  often  at  the  masked  balls, 
and  I  recognised  her  under  her  domino  more  than 
once  when  she  mistook-.me  for  an  acquaintance  and 


THE    TWO   OTHERS.  57 

fell  to  chatting  with  me.  You  know  all  that  very 
well,  and  you  say  to  yourself :  'I'll  take  my  brother 
along  as  elephant.'  All  right,  brother ;  never  fear,  I 
am  not  going  to  hand  back  the  five  hundred  florins. 
Your  charges  are  high,  but  I'll  be  your  elephant. 
Climb  up  on  my  back,  and  while  you  beguile  the 
daughter  I  will  keep  the  mother  amused.  But  first  I 
must  impose  one  condition.  If  you  really  want  my 
company  at  the  reception,  do  me  the  favour  to  iAer- 
cede  with  your  chief  on  behalf  of  a  poor  priest  who 
has  been  summoned  to  Vienna.  Have  him  sent  home 
in  peace.  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  he  is  our  pastor  at 
Nemesdomb,  and  he  has  been  set  upon  because  of  the 
funeral  prayer  he  saw  fit  to  make." 

"  How  did  you  learn  all  that  ? "  asked  Jenő,  in 
surprise. 

"Oh,  I  picked  it  up,"  replied  the  other;  "and  I 
tell  you  he  is  an  honest  man.     Let  him  go." 

Jenő  assumed  his  official  expression  of  countenance. 
"But  really,"  said  he,  "I  have  reason  to  know  that 
the  chancellor  is  greatly  incensed  against  him." 

"  Come,  come! "  cried  the  elder  brother,  impatiently  ; 
"don't  try  to  impose  on  me  with  your  great  men.  I 
have  seen  any  number  of  them,  in  all  sorts  of  undress, 
and  I  know  that  they  are  built  just  like  other  mortals, 
—  eat  and  drink,  yawn  and  snore  exactly  like  the 
rest  of  mankind.  Your  great  magistrate  wrinkles 
his  brow,  talks  in  a  harsh  tone  to  the  innocent  vie- 


58  i^i^^   BARON'S  SONS. 

tim  before  him,  and  when  he  has  let  him  go,  the 
mighty  man  laughs  aloud  at  the  terrible  fright  he 
gave  the  poor  wretch.  This  priest  is  an  honest  fel- 
low, but  his  tongue  sometimes  runs  away  withTmiir 
Yet  he  is  a  servant  of  God,  and  he  must  be  allowed 

to  depart  in  peace.  May  he  long  minister  to  his  little 
^-^^,  


"  Well,  I  will  speak  to  his  Excellency,"  returned 
J  eno. 

"Thank  you.  Now  sit  down  and  drink  with  me, 
to  seal  our  compact.     Paul !  " 

The  old  hussar  appeared. 

"There  is  a  ten-florin  note.  Go  and  get  two 
bottles  of  champagne,  —  one  for  us  and  one  for 
yourself." 

Old  Paul  shook  his  head  as  he  withdrew,  and 
muttered,  "  I  was  just  such  another  myself  when 
I  was  a  youngster." 


CHAPTER   V. 

ALL    SORTS    OF    PEOPLE. 

The  Plankenhorst  family  in  Vienna  was  an  entirely 
respectable  one,  although  its  name  lacked  the  prefix 
which  denotes  nobility.  Nevertheless  the  widow  was 
honoured  with  the  title  of  baroness,  as  she  was  of 
noble  birth,  and  her  daughter,  too,  was  similarly 
addressed  by  her  admirers.  They  lived  in  a  house 
of  their  own  in  the  inner  city  ;  and  that  signifies  a 
great  deal  in  Vienna.  But  the  house  was  an  old-fash- 
ioned one,  built  in  the  style  of  Maria  Theresa,  and 
the  ground  floor  was  given  up  to  shops.  They  were 
admitted  to  court  circles  and  were  often  seen  there  ; 
yet  it  was  the  men  rather  than  the  women  that 
sought  their  society.  Barons  and  princes  not  seldom 
offered  an  arm  to  the  amiable  Madame  Antoinette 
to  escort  her  to  the  supper-room,  or  begged  of  the 
charming  Miss  Alfonsine  the  pleasure  of  a  dance. 
But  no  baron  or  prince  was  ever  known  to  seek  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  either  of  them. 

Their .  receptions  were  well  attended,  and  it  was 
there  that    many  political   and   love   intrigues  were 

59 


6o  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

hatched.  Ta  be  sure,  the  Sedhiiczkys,  the  Insaghis, 
and  the  Apponys  never  graced  these  functions,  but 
their  secretaries  were  to  be  seen  there.  No  one  ever 
thought  of  seeking  the  Princes  Windischgratz  and 
Colloredo  in  that  house ;  yet  miUtary  celebrities  with 
decorated  breasts  and  gold-laced  collars  were  to  be 
found  there  in  plenty,  as  well  as  jovial  officers  and 
guardsmen  of  good  family.  The  ladies,  too,  in  attend- 
ance, both  matrons  and  misses,  belonged  to  families 
distinguished  either  for  high  official  station  or  for  birth. 

The  tone  of  these  assemblies  was  thoroughly  re- 
spectable, while  they  offered  peculiar  facilities  for 
enjoying  oneself  without  irksome  restraint, — an  ad- 
vantage not  found  everywhere. 

For  all  that,  however,  when  at  nine  o'clock  of  the 
appointed  evening  Jenő  betook  himself  in  full  evening 
dress  to  his  brother's  quarters,  he  found  the  young 
cavalry  officer  not  yet  attired  for  the  reception,  and, 
apparently,  utterly  indifferent  to  the  great  pleasure 
awaiting  him.  He  was  lying  on  his  lounge,  reading  a 
novel. 

"  Well,  aren't  you  going  to  the  party  .'' "  asked  the 
younger  brother. 

"  What  party  .?  " 

"At  the  Plankenhorsts'." 

"There  now,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it,"  ex- 
claimed Richard,  springing  up  and  summoning  his 
servant. 


ALL   SORTS   OF  PEOPLE.  6 1 

"  Do  tell  me,  Richard,  why  you  have  such  an  aver- 
sion to  these  people  ?  They  are  so  friendly  and 
cordial,  and  one  is  always  sure  to  pass  a  pleasant 
evening  at  their  house." 

"What's  wanted  now?"  inquired  Paul,  appearing 
at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  Paul,  and  shave  me,"  returned  his  master. 

The  old  hussar  was  barber  as  well  as  cook. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  my  question  .-' "  persisted 
Jenő,  while  old .  Paul  beat  up  the  lather.  "  What 
have  you  against  the  Plankenhorsts  }  " 

"The  deuce  take  me  if  I  can  tell,"  answered 
Richard  ;  "but  they  are  such_tuft-hui]J;ers  !  " 

"  Better  not  talk  now,  or  I  shall  be  cutting  your 
face,"  interposed  the  old  servant.  "  Let  the  young 
gentleman  go  on  ahead,  and  you  can  follow  him  as 
soon  as  I  have  made  you  presentable.  You  won't 
need  any  rope  ladder  or  skeleton  key  to  get  into  the 
Plankenhorst  house." 

Jenő  adopted  this  suggestion,  and  half  an  hour 
later  his  brother  joined  him  in  the  Plankenhorst 
parlours.  Jenő  hastened  to  present  the  newcomer 
to  the  hostess  and  her  daughter,  both  of  whom 
remembered  that  they  had  already  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  him.  The  mother  declared  herself  de- 
lighted to  welcome  him  under  her  own  roof,  to  which 
Richard  replied  with  an  appropriate  compliment,  and 
then  made  room  for  other  arrivals. 


62  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  to  some  of  the  people 
here  ?  "  asked  Jenő, 

'*  No,  don't  trouble  yourself ;  I  know  them  better 
than  you  do.  That  marshal  over  there,  with  the 
military  figure  and  a  voice  as  loud  as  if  he  were 
commanding  a  brigade,  is  an  officer  in  the  commissary 
department.  He  spends  his  time  in  weighing  out 
provender,  and  has  never  smelt  gunpowder  except  on 
the  emperor's  birthday.  The  young  prince  yonder, 
with  the  condescending  smile  and  his  eye-glasses 
stuck  high  up  on  his  nose,  is  secretary  to  the  chief 
of  police,  and  a  very  influential  man.  The  duenna 
in  the  coffee-coloured  dress  and  with  paint  on  her 
cheeks,  is  the  wife  of  Blumenbach,  the  banker,  who 
lends  money  to  the  spendthrift  young  aristocrats, 
and,  consequently,  knows  all  that  is  going  on  in  high 
society.  And  the  young  lady  near  us,  talking  and 
smiling  so  confidentially  with  a  young  man  about 
your  age,  is  the  most  accomplished  detective  that 
ever  ferreted  out  a  secret ;  but  aside  from  that  she 
is  a  very  nice  little  innocent  creature." 

Jenő  felt  not  entirely  at  his  ease  as  he  listened  to 
his  brother,  whom  he  suspected  of  entertaining  no 
very  high  opinion  of  the  whole  company, 

"  The  little  maid  that  I  met  on  the  stairs,"  resumed 
Richard,  "pleases  me  more  than  all  this  company 
put  together.  I  don't  know  whether  she  belongs  in 
the  house,  but  I  came  here  to-night  wholly  on  her 


ALL  SORTS  OF  PEOPLE.  63 

caccoiint.  I  pinched  her  cheek  as  she  was  running 
away  from  me,  and  she  gave  me  a  slap  on  the  hand 
that  I  can  feel  now." 

The  last  words  received  but  scant  attention  from 
Jenő,  as  a  certain  illustrious  ornament  of  society  had 
caught  sight  of  the  two  brothers  and  was  hastening 
toward  them.  He  was  a  tall,  angular  jnan,  with  a_ 
sharp  nose  and  a  little  pointed  beard..  Greeting  Jenő 
on  the  way,  he  made  straight  for  the  elder  brother, 
and  placed  his  bony  hand  familiarly  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder. 

"Your  humble  servant,  my  dear  Richard!"  he 
exclaimed  in  Hungarian. 

The  other  returned  the  greeting  with  much  cool- 
ness and  indifference. 

The  angular  gentleman  pulled  at  his  beard  as  if 
not  wholly  pleased  with  his  reception,  and  Jenő  bit 
his  lip  in  vexation  at  his  brother's  conduct. 

"Well,  how  are  you  .^ "  asked  the  tall  gentleman, 
with  gracious  condescension. 

"Well  enough,"  replied  Richard  nonchalantly; 
"and  I  see  you  are  in  good  trim,  too." 

The  other  seemed  not  exactly  to  relish  this  answer. 
"  I  am  going  to  leave  for  home  to-morrow,"  said  he ; 
"what  word  shall  I  carry  to  your  mother  from  you .'' " 

"Ah,  you  live  in  our  neighbourhood,  do  you.'*" 
blandly  inquired  the  young  hussar  officer. 

At  this  the  polygonal  gentleman  nearly  lost  com- 


64        ^  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

mand  of  himself,  while  Jenő  tried  to  look  as  if  his 
attention  were  elsewhere  engaged. 

"■  What  message,  then,  do  you  wish  to  send  ? "  re- 
sumed Richard's  interlocutor, 

"  I  kiss  her  hand,"  answered  the  young  man  briefly. 

"Ah,  that  commission  I  will  execute  with  the 
greatest  pleasure,  in  person,"  exclaimed  the  other, 
with  effusive  friendliness. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  feel  obliged  to  convey  my  re- 
spects in  such  a  literal  sense  as  that,"  returned  Rich- 
ard.    "I  was  speaking  figuratively." 

Jenő  meanwhile  had  opened  a  conversation  with 
the  innocent-looking  young  lady  near  him  ;  but  he 
kept  one  eye  on  his  brother,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw 
that  the  angular  gentleman  had  departed,  he  took 
leave  of  the  young  lady  and  returned  to  Richard. 

"Well,  now,  you've  put  your  foot  in  it  this  time  !  " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  How  so  .''  "  asked  the  other,  with  much  composure. 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  man  .-'     It  was  Rideghváry." 

"Well,  he  might  have  been  Meleghváry,  for  all  I 
care." 

"  But  he  is  an  intimate  friend  of  the  family,  and  you 
have  often  seen  him  at  our  house." 

"  As  if  I  could  remember  all  the  faces  I  saw  in  our 
house  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  before  I  was  sent  away 
to  the  military  academy.  I  didn't  keep  an  album  of 
them,  —  the  Rideghvdrys  and   all  the  other  várys." 


ALL   SORTS  OF  PEOPLE.  65 

Jenő  tried  to  draw  his  brother  aside  where  tliey 
would  not  be  overheard.  "You  must  know,"  said 
he,  "that  Rideghváry  is  a  very  influential  man." 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ? "  asked  the  other,  indiffer- 
ently. 

"  He  is  the  administrator  of  our  county." 
"Well,  that  is  the  county's  aííair,  not  mine." 
"And,  still  more,  he  is  likely  to  be  our  stepfather." 
"That  is  our  mother's  affair."     So  saying,  Richard 
turrted  his  back  on  his   brother,  who  wished  to  de- 
tain   him,    but    the    other    shook    him    off.     "Don't 
bother  me  with  your  Rideghváry.     We  didn't  come 
here  to  see  him.     Go  and  court  Alfonsine ;  there's 
no  one  with  her  now  but  the  little  secretary  with  the 
squeaky  voice." 

The  hussar  officer  danced  for  awhile  and  other- 
wise sought  to  amuse  himself.  Cards  were  never 
played  at  the  Plankenhorst  parties.  Young  ladies 
were  there  in  plenty,  and  Richard  enjoyed  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  veritable  Don  Juan  ;  but  the  very  ease  of  his 
conquests  destroyed  their  value  in  his  eyes.  A  little 
maid-servant,  however,  who  slapped  him  and  ran  away 
because  he  pinched  her  cheek,  was  something  new. 
No  man  had  ever  defeated  him  in  a  duel,  nor  woman 
triumphed  over  him  in  a  love  affair.^ 

Entering  the  supper-room  later  with  his  brother,  he 
saw  the  little  maid-servant  presiding  over  the  lemon- 
ade, and  he  pointed  her  out  to  Jenő. 


66  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"  You  bungler !  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  under  nis 
breath  ;  "  you  only  fall  from  one  blunder  into  another. 
She  isn't  a  servant,  but  Miss  Edith  Liedenwall,  a 
relative  of  the  family." 

"  What !  She  one  of  the  family  }  And  do  they 
leave  her  alone  on  the  stairs  in  the  evening,  and  let 
her  serve  lemonade  to  the  guests  .'' " 

Jenő  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  you  see,  she 
is  the  daughter  of  some  poor  relations,  and  her  aunt 
here  has  taken  pity  on  her.  Then,  too,  she  is  little 
more  than  a  child,  —  only  about  fifteen  years  old,  — 
and  no  one  heeds  her." 

Richard  looked  at  his  brother  coldly.  "  Was  your 
Baroness  Plankenhorst  never  of  that  age  herself  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  But  what_would  you  have  them  dpwithaaadopted 
waif  like  that.-'"  returned  the  other,  "„They  can't 
rear  her  as  if  she  were  to  be  a  great  lady." 

"Then  they  ought  not  to  have  adopted  her,"  ob- 
jected Richard.  "  No  gentleman  will  pay  court  to 
her  as  long  as  she  fills  a  menial's  place,  and  no  poor 
man  will  venture  to  do  so  on  account  of  her  high 
birth." 

"Quite  true,  but  what  can  we  do  about  it.?"  said 
Jenő. 

Richard  left  his  brother  and  advanced  to  the  side- 
board, where  the  girl  was  serving  lemonade.  She 
presented  an  exceedingly  attractive  appearance,  her 


ALL  SORTS   OF  PEOPLE.  6^ 

abundant  dark  hair  coiled  high  on  her  head,  her  black 
eyes  full  of  life,  and  a  ready  smile  on  her  coral  lips. 
She  seemed  to  enjoy  the  part  allotted  to  her,  and  met 
the  guests'  friendly  advances  in  an  unconstrained  but 
modest  manner.  Upon  Richard's  approach  she  did 
not  turn  away  from  him,  as  he  might  have  expected 
from  their  earlier  meeting,  but  met  his  look  with  a 
roguish  smile  in  her  bright  eyes,  and  said  to  him,  as 
he  came  nearer  : 

"Aha!  now  you  are  afraid  of  me,  aren't  you.''" 
And  she  had  hit  the  truth,  for  the  young  officer 
really  felt  abashed  in  her  presence. 

"Miss  Edith,"  said  he,  "I  beg  you  to  pardon  me; 
but  why  do  they  let  you  wander  about  alone  in  the 
evening,  where  you  are  sure  to  meet  so  many 
people  .-• " 

"  Oh,  they  all  know  me,"  she  answered,  "and  I  had 
an  errand  to  do.  You  took  me  for  a  maid-servant, 
didn't  you  .-*  " 

"  That  is,  indeed,  my  only  excuse,"  he  replied.  .      i 

"  Well   doii't  you  think   maid-servants    have  any     js<T{^uu- 
rights  that  others  are  bound  to  respect  ? "  asked  the 
girl.  ~  ^ 

The  question  was  a  hard  one  for  Richard  to  an- 
swer ;  he  could  find  nothing  to  say. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  to  give  you,"  said  Edith,  "and 
then  go  back  to  the  dancing-hall,  where  they  are 
waiting  for  you." 


68  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

The  young  man  refused  all  the  offered  refresh- 
ments, but  asked  the  girl  to  reach  him  the  tip  of  her 
little  finger  in  sign  of  forgiveness  for  his  offence. 

"No,"  no!"  she  cried,  "I  won't  shake  hands  with 
you.      Your  hand  has  been  wicked." 

"If  you  call  my  hand  wicked,"  he  returned,  "I 
will  go  to-morrow  and  fight  a  duel  and  have  it  cut 
off.  Do  you  really  want  my  poor  hand  to  be  chopped 
off  for  offending  you  }  If  you  do,  just  as  surely  as  I 
stand  here  you  shall  see  me  day  after  to-morrow  with 
only  one  hand." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  like  that  !  "  exclaimed  Edith. 
"  I  won't  be  angry  any  longer."  So  saying,  she  gave 
him  her  hand  —  not  merely  her  little  finger,  but  the 
whole  of  her  soft,  warm  little  hand  —  and  let  him 
press  it  in  his  own.  No  one  was  near  them  at  the 
moment. 

"And  now,  not  to  offend  you  even  with  a  look," 
said  he,  "  I  promise  on  my  honour  not  to  raise  my 
eyes  higher  than  your  hand." 

He  kept  his  word,  dropping  his  eyes  as  he  released 
her  hand  and  took  his  leave  with  a  low  bow. 

As  the  two  young  men  returned  home  together  after 
midnight,  Jenő  noticed  that  his  elder  brother  no 
longer  teased  him. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


THE    BA  CKFISCH. 


One  evening,  after  the  habitual  frequenters  of  the 
Plankenhorst  house  had  taken  their  departure,  as 
Alfonsine  was  undressing  with  the  help  of  her  maid, 
she  turned  to  the  latter  and  asked  : 

"What  is  the  backfisch  doing  nowadays,   Betty?" 

Backfisch,  be  it  otfterved,  means  literally  a  fish  for 
frying,  but,  as  commonly  used  in  German,  it  denotes 
a  girl  who  is  no  longer  a  child,  but  not  yet  a  young 
lady ;  one  who  is  still  innocent  and  harmless,  and 
who  feels  strange  emotions  stirring  in  her  breast,  but 
fails  to  understand  them  ;  who  takes  jest  for  earnest 
and  earnest  for  jest,  and  who  believes  the  first  pretty 
speech  poured  into  her  ear  to  be  so  much  refined 
gold.      That  is  the  backfisch. 

"The  backfisch  is  learning  to  swim,"  replied  Made- 
moiselle Bettine. 

"  Still  holding  on  to  the  guard-ropes  ?  Not  yet  able 
to  strike  out  alone  ?  " 

"  She  will  be  able  before  long,"  was  Betty's  reply, 
as  she  took  down  her  mistress's  hair  and  coiled  it  up 

69 


7Ó  THE   BARON'S  SOATS. 

anew  for  the  night.  "  A  day  or  two  ago,  as  I  was 
doing  her  hair,  she  asked  me  :  '  Whose  hair  is  the 
longer,  mine  or  Alfonsine's  ? '  " 

"  Ha,  ha !     The  backfisch  !  " 

"  And  I  told  her  that  her  hair  was  the  more  beau- 
tiful." 

At  this  both  laughed. 

"  She  know^s  already,  without  any  one's  telling  her, 
that  she  is  a  pretty  girl,"  said  Alfonsine.  "  Does  she 
ever  talk  about  any  of  the  gentlemen  that  visit  us .''  " 

"Oh,  yes,  we  gossip  about  all  the  men  that  come 
to  the  house,  and  she  tells  me  her  opinion  of  each  ; 
but  there  is  one  she  never  names  at  all,  and  if  I  hap- 
pen to  mention  him  she  blushes  tip  to  her  eyes." 

"  And  do  you  think  he  is  after  her  ? "  asked  Alfon- 
sine. 

"He  is  very  cautious,"  answered  the  maid,  "and 
whenever  he  meets  her  alone  he  can  hardly  find  two 
words  to  say  to  her.     But  I  know  what  that  means." 

"  Poor  little  backfiscJi ! "  murmured  the  other. 
"We'll  give  her  a  pleasant  surprise,  Betty.  To- 
morrow she  shall  have  a  new  gown.  The  dressmaker 
spoiled  one  of  mine,  and  it  will  do  nicely  for  her." 

Mademoiselle  Bettine  laughed.  "The  pink  tarla- 
tan } "  she  inquired.      "That  is  a  ball-dress." 

"  Never  mind.  She  shall  have  it  and  be  hapj^y. 
You  make  her  believe  that  we  have  been  rather 
slighting  her  hitherto  because  she  was  only  a  child, 


THE  BACKFISCH.  >  yi 

but  that  now  she  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  young  lady. 
We  will  have  her  taught  dancing,  playing,  and  singing." 

"  Really  ? " 

"  Oh,  well,  let  her  think  so,  and  that  she  is  to  be 
introduced  to  society  and  treated  like  one  of  the 
family." 

"  If  I  tell  her  that  now,  I  sha'n't  get  a  wink  of 
sleep  all  night  long ;  she  will  chatter  about  it  till 
morning.     She  is  fairly  crazy  to  take  singing  lessons." 

"  Poor  little  backfisch  I    We'll  gratify  her  for  once." 

Oh,  the  heartless  Jezebel ! 

A  few  days  later  Richard  received  an  invitation  to 
take  tea  and  play  whist  at  the  Plankenhorsts' —  quite 
enfamille.     Alfonsine  was  to  sing  also. 

The  young  hussar  officer  refused  no  invitation 
from  the  Plankenhorst  ladies,  nor  was  he  ever  tardy 
on  such  occasions,  but  was  wont  to  set  his  watch 
ahead  so  as  to  have  an  excuse  to  offer  if  he  was  the 
first  guest  to  arrive.  Thus  it  occurred  in  this  in- 
stance that  he  saw  no  signs  of  a  previous  arrival 
when  he  handed  his  cloak  and  sword  to  the  footman 
in  the  anteroom. 

"  Am  I  the  first  one  here  .-'  "  he  asked. 

The  footman  smiled  and  replied  in  the  affirmative 
as  he  opened  the  drawing-room  door  for  the  guest. 

Entering,  he  came  upon  Betty,  who  seemed  busy 
with  somethino;  about  the  room. 


72  T//E  BARON'S  SONS. 

"Am  I  too  early,  Miss  Betty  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  maid  courtesied  and  smiled.  "  The  baroness 
has  not  come  in  yet,  but  she  will  soon  be  at  home. 
The  young  lady  is  in  the  music-room." 

At  this  moment,  indeed,  he  heard  some  one  singing 
in  the  next  room,  but  the  voice  sounded  fuller  and 
richer  than  Alfonsine's.  He  concluded,  however, 
that  it  was  with  her  as  with  so  many  others,  who 
sing  their  best  when  alone. 

He  passed  into  the  music-room,  but  halted  sud- 
denly in  surprise.  At  the  piano  sat,  not  Alfonsine, 
but  another  young  lady  whom  at  first  he  failed  to 
recognise.  It  was  EditlvirLa  new  gűwrLJjid.with  her 
hair  arranged  as  he  had  never  seen  it  before.  She 
wore  a  low-necked  pink  dress  which  exposed  to  view 
her  beautiful  neck  and  shoulders,  and  she  was  sing- 
ing a  ballad,  in  an  untrained  voice,  but  with  expres- 
sion and  feeling,  picking  out  the  air  on  the  piano 
with  one  hand  like  a  person  unskilled  in  playing. 
She  was  quite  alone  in  the  room. 

Richard  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  little  white  hand 
dancing  over  the  keyboard,  until  Edith,  glancing  up 
from  her  music,  caught  sight  of  him.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  cover  her  bare  neck  with  both  hands, 
so  new  and  strange  did  her  costume  still  seem  .to  her. 
But  recognising  that  this  was  exactly  the  wrong 
thing  to  do,  she  let  her  hands  fall  and  advanced  to 
meet  the  young  officer.     Her  face  flushed  a  rosy  red 


THE   BACKFISCH.  73 

and  her  heart  beat  violently  as,  in  a  voice  that  nearly 

failed  her,  she  announced  that  the  baroness  was  not 

« 

at  home. 

Richard  pitied  her  embarrassment.  "  And  Miss 
Alfonsine  .''  "  he  asked. 

"They  both  went  out  together,"  she  replied. 
"  They  were  called  to  court  and  will  not  return  until 
late." 

"  Has  my  brother  been  here  }  " 

"Yes,  but  he  went  away  again  some  time  ago." 

"  And  did  not  the  baroness  say  that  she  expected 
company } " 

"  She  said  she  had  ordered  the  footman  to  go 
around  to  the  houses  of  the  invited  guests  and  tell 
them  that  the  whist  party  was  postponed  until 
to-morrow." 

"  Strange  that  he  didn't  say  anything  about  it  to 
me  when  he  let  me  in.  Pardon  me.  Miss  Edith,  for 
disturbing  you.  Please  present  my  compliments  to 
the  baroness." 

So  saying,  he  bowed  with  much  formality  and 
withdrew,  purposing  to  call  the  footman  to  account 
for  his  negligence.  But  he  failed  to  find  him  in  the 
anteroom,  and  the  front  door,  by  which  he  had 
entered,  proved  to  be  locked  and  the  key  removed. 
He  was  forced  to  go  back  through  the  drawing-room 
and  seek  an  exit  by  the  servants'  door ;  but  this  also 
was  locked.     One  other  door  was  known  to  him,  lead- 


74  r^^   BAA'O.V'S  SOA^S. 

ing  into  the  kitchen,  and  he  tried  it.  It  would  not 
open,  however.  In  the  dining-room  was  a  bell-cord 
communicating  with  the  servants'  quarters  ;  he  pulled 
it  sharply  three  times  in  succession,  but  no  one 
answered  his  summons.  Returning  once  more  to  the 
anteroom,  he  found  it  still  empty.  Evidently  he  and 
Edith  were  the  only  ones  in  the  house.  His  heart 
"beat  tumultuously.  He  felt  himself  the  victim  of  a 
curious  plot  whose  outcome  he  could  not  foresee. 
TJnce  more  he  returned  to  the  music-room.  At  the 
sound  of  his  step  Edith  came  toward  him.  Her  face 
was  no  longer  flushed  ;  she  was  very  pale.  But  she 
met  the  young  man's  eyes  calmly,  with  no  sign  of 
trembling  or  embarrassment. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Edith,"  he  began,  "  I  have  tried 
all  the  doors  and  found  them  locked,  nor  is  there  any 
one  in  the  house  to  let  me  out." 

A  life-size  portrait  of  Alfonsine  hung  on  the  wall. 
To  Richard,  at  that  moment,  the  fair  face  seemed  to 
smile  down  upon  the  scene  with  a  malicious  triumph. 

Edith,  however,  lost  none  of  heii  composure.  "  The 
servants  must  have  gone  down  into  the  courtyard," 
said  she ;  "but  I  know  where  there  is  another  key  to 
the  front  door,  and  I  will  let  you  out." 

Against  the  wall  hung  a  wicker-work  device  for 
holding  keys,  and  in  order  to  reach  it  Edith  was 
forced  to  pass  by  Richard.  When  she  was  very  near 
him  he  suddenly  stepped  in  front  of  her. 


THE  BACKFISCH.  75 

"  One  word,  Edith,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  know  what 
is  in  my  mind  at  this  moment  ? " 

In  his  fancy  the  fair  lady  on  the  wall  seemed  to  be 
carrying  on  a  diabolical  dialogue  with  his  loudly  beat- 
ing heart.  The  world  was  on  fire  around  him.  Yet 
the  young  girl  whom  he  was  confronting  stood  there 
calmly  and  answered  him  with  great  presence  of  mind  : 

"  Yes ;  you  are  thinking :  '  I  once  promised  this 
girl  never  to  offend  her  even  with  a  look,  and  not  to 
raise  my  eyes,  when  I  stand  before  her,  higher  than 
her  hands.'  "  Therewith  she  folded  her  hands  and 
dropped  them  in  front  of  her. 

"That  is  it,"  nodded  Richard,  feeling  as  if  a  hun- 
dred-pound weight  had  been  removed  from  his  breast. 
"And  one  thing  more  I  must  ask  of  you.  Miss 
Edith,"  he  added.  "  I  have  an  urgent  message  to 
write  to  the  baroness.  Can  you  furnish  me  with 
writing-materials .'' " 

Edith  opened  her  aunt's  desk  and,  with  a  motion 
of  her  hand,  invited  him  to  be  seated. 

Richard  sat  down  and  wrote.  His  letter  was  brief 
and  soon  written.  He  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope  and 
sealed  it,  Edith  meanwhile  standing  quietly  on  the 
other  side  of  the  desk  with  her  hands  still  folded  and 
resting  upon  her  lap.  Then  he  rose  and  advanced 
with  the  sealed  note  to  where  she  stood.  Nobility 
spoke  in  his  face  and  pride  in  his  bearing.  The 
girl's  very  soul  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  met  his  gaze. 


76  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Can  you  also  tell  me,  Miss  Edith,"  he  asked, 
"what  I  have  written  in  this  letter  which  I  hold 
sealed  before  you  ?  " 

The    young    girl    slowly    raised    her    hands    and 

pressed   them   to   her   forehead,    unmindful   that    in 

so   doing    she    invited    him    to    raise   his    eyes    and 

look   into    hers,  where  he    could    not   but   read  the 

mingled  expression  of  pain  and  delight,  of  despair  and 

rapture. 

Q       "In  this  letter,"  he  continued,  "I  have  written  the 

^Síny  following :   *  My  dear  Baroness  :    I   beg  herewith  to 

V       prefer  my  petition  for  Miss  Edith  Liedenwall's  hand 

^       I  in  marriage.     I  shall  be  of  age  in  a  year's  time,  and 

1  will  then  come  and  claim  her.     Until  then  pray  let 

her  be  regarded  as  my  affianced  bride.'  "    Therewith 

he  handed  the  letter  to  Edith,  who  pressed  its  seal  to 

her  lips  in  a  long  kiss,  after  which  she  returned  it 

I  to  him.     His  lips  also  touched  the  seal,  while  it  was 

still  warm  with  the  kiss  of  his  beloved.     That  was 

■  their  betrothal  kiss. 

*—  "  Will  you  deliver  this  letter  to  the  baroness  ? " 
asked  Richard. 

Edith  inclined  her  head  without  speaking,  and 
stuck  the  note  into  her  bodice. 

"And  now  we  shall  not  have  another  such  inter- 
view for  a  year.  Good-bye."  He  withdrew  and  let 
himself  out  by  aid  of  the  key  which  Edith  had  given 
him. 


THE   BACKFISCH.  jy 

When  he  had  gone  Edith  sank  down  and  pressed  a 
kiss  on  the  spot  still  marked  by  her  lover's  footprints 
in  the  soft  carpet. 

It  was  late  when  the  baroness  and  her  daughter 
returned,  and  Edith  had  already  gone  to  her  room,  — 
that  is,  the  room  which  she  shared  with  the  maid. 

"  Send  the  backfisch  to  us,"  commanded  Alfonsine, 
addressing  Betty. 

"  Not  gone  to  bed  yet,  Edith  .-'  "  asked  the  baroness, 
as  her  niece  entered  the  room. 

"No,  aunt." 

Antoinette  looked  into  the  girl's  eyes  with  search- 
ing scrutiny,  but  failed  to  find  there  what  she  sought. 
She  saw,  on  the  contrary,  a  proud  self-consciousness 
that  was  new  to  the  girl. 

"Have  any  callers  come  while  we  were  out.''" 
inquired  the  baroness. 

"Yes;  Captain  Baradlay." 

The  two  ladies'  eyes  directed  a  cross-fire  upon 
Edith,  but  with  no  effect.  She  no  longer  blushed  at 
the  mention  of  that  name.  It  was  now  enshrined  in 
her  heart  and  would  not  again  drive  the  tell-tale 
blood  to  her  cheeks. 

"  Did  the  captain  wait  for  us  .-'  "  asked  Antoinette. 

"  Only  long  enough  to  write  this  letter,"  was  the 
girl's  calm  reply,  as  she  delivered  Richard's  note  to 
her  aunt. 


78  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Now  it  was  the  latter's  turn  to  feel  the  hot  blood 
mounting  to  her  face  as  she  read  the  missive. 

"  Do  you  know  what  is  in  this  letter  ? "  she  asked, 
giving  the  girl  a  penetrating  look. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Edith,  with  modest  dignity. 

"  You  may  return  to  your  room  and  go  to  bed," 
said  the  baroness. 

Edith  withdrew.  Antoinette  tossed  the  letter 
wrathfully  to  her  daughter. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  "that's  what  comes  of 
your  fine  scheme." 

Alfonsine  turned  pale  and  trembled  with  passion 
as  she  read  the  letter.  Her  voice  failed  her.  Her 
mother's  face  was  distorted  with  anger. 

"You  evidently  thought,"  said  the  baroness,  biting 
her  words  off  one  by  one,  "  that  every  man  was  an 
Otto  Palyicz  !     Your  stupid  game  is  lost^andjiow  we 


will  try  my  plan." 


•-^tvi^ 


-jUv/^öv>^ 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    OLD    CURIOSITY    SHOP. 

As  Richard  made  his  way  homeward,  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  riding  on  a  winged  steed.  He  was 
entirely  satisfied  with  the  issue  of  that  day's  adven- 
ture. Reviewing  in  imagination  the  temptation  to 
which  he  had  been  exposed,  he  exulted  in  the  victory 
he  had  won  over  himself.  Consequently,  when  he 
reentered  his  bachelor  quarters,  he  could  not  but  feel 
an  unwelcome  sensation  as  his  eye  fell  on  certain 
objects  that  he  would  gladly  have  banished  from 
sight.  They  were  sundry  souvenirs  of  certain  love 
affairs,  and  no  longer  possessed  the  value  in  his  eyes 
that  they  had  once  had. 

Summoning  Paul,  he  bade  him  make  a  fire. 

"  But  the  wood  is  so  confoundedly  wet  that  it  won't 
burn,"  returned  the  old  hussar. 

At  this  Richard  rummaged  in  the  drawer  of  his 
writing-desk  and  produced  a  bundle  of  letters,  whose 
delicate  tint  and  perfume  betrayed  their  probable 
nature.  ''There,"  said  he,  "take  these;  they  will 
start  the  fire." 

79 


80  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

This  order  gave  old  Paul  much  pleasure,  and  soon 
the  billets-doux  were  blazing  merrily  on  the  hearth. 

"Paul,"  began  Richard  after  a  pause,  "to-morrow 
we  break  up  and  go  away  for  the  annual  manoeuvres." 

The  old  soldier  showed  his  satisfaction  at  this 
announcement. 

"But  we  can't  take  all  this  trumpery  with  us," 
added  the  young  officer.  "You'll  have  to  sell  the 
furniture,  but  the  souvenirs,  pictures,  and  embroi- 
deries may  be  thrown  into  the  fire." 

Paul  bowed  dutifully. 

Opposite  the  young  man's  bed  hung  a  large  oil 
painting  in  a  great  gilt  frame ;  it  was  the  portrait  of 
a  famous  beauty  who  had  caused  herself  to  be  painted 
as  Danaé,  and  had  presented  the  picture  to  Richard. 
The  latter  now  bade  his  servant  get  rid  of  it  with  the 
rest  of  the  rubbish.  After  thoroughly  ransacking 
his  drawers  for  old  love-letters,  faded  flowers,  bits  of 
ribbon,  and  other  miscellaneous  articles,  he  left  the 
entire  coilection  for  old  Paul  to  destroy,  while  he 
himself  went  out  with  a  lightened  conscience  to  his 
supper. 

The  next  morning,  when  Paul  brought  his  master's 
boots,  Richard  made  some  remark  on  the  thorough- 
ness with  which  his  faithful  servant  had  executed  his 
orders.  "But  surely,"  he  added,  "you  can't  have 
burnt  up  the  frame  of  the  large  painting.  ^What  has 
become  of  it .-'  " 


THE    OLD    CURIOSITY  SHOP.  8l 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  burnt  up  the  picture,  either  ?  " 
asked  Paul  in  his  turn.  "  I  am  not  so  crazy  as  to 
throw  a  fine  work  of  art  hke  that  into  the  fire." 

"  What  then  have  you  done  with  it .'' "  demanded 
the  other,  kicking  off  his  bedclothes.  "  You  haven't 
pawned  it,  I  hope  .''  " 

Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Captain  Baradlay 
said  I  was  to  get  rid  of  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Yes,  and  that  meant  that  it  was  to  be  burnt  up," 
declared  Richard. 

"  Well,"  returned  the  servant,  "  I  understood  you 
to  mean  that  it  was  to  be  carried  to  old  Solomon  and 
sold  for  what  it  would  bring." 

"  And  is  that  what  you  did  with  it  .-* " 

"There's  where  it  is  now." 

Richard  was  very  near  being  downright  angry 
with  his  old  servant.  "Go  at  once  and  bring  the 
painting  back  ! "  he  commanded,  as  sternly  as  he 
could. 

But  old  Paul  was  not  one  to  be  easily  disconcerted. 
Laying  his  master's  stockings  within  their  owner's 
reach,  he  replied,  with  unruffled  composure  :  "  Solo- 
mon will  not  give  it  back  to  me." 

"  Not  if  I  demand  it .?  " 

"He  sends  his  compliments  to  Captain  Baradlay, 
and  begs  him  to  have  the  goodness  to  go  and  speak 
with  him  in  person  about  tl?e  picture,"  returned  the 
old  hussar,  handing  Richard  his  trousers. 


82  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

The  young  officer  fairly  lost  his  temper.  "  Paul, 
you  are  a  donkey  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Quickly,  and  with  no  little  vexation,  the  hussar 
officer  completed  his  toilet  and  hastened  to  old 
Solomon's  shop  in  Porcelain  Street,  before  the  Jew 
should  hang  the  picture  where  it  could  be  seen  and, 
perhaps,  recognised. 

Solomon's  establishment  was  a  little  basement  shop, 
lying  lower  than  the  sidewalk  and  lighted  only  from 
the  door,  which  was  consequently  always  kept  open. 
On  both  sides  of  the  entrance  old  furniture  was 
placed  on  exhibition,  while  within  was  gathered  such 
a  heterogeneous  collection  of  all  sorts  of  second- 
hand wares  as  fairly  baffles  description.  But  the 
most  ancient  and  curious  object  in  the  whole  shop 
was  its  owner,  who  sat  in  a  big  leather  armchair, 
wrapped  in  a  long  caftan,  fur  shoes  on  his  feet  and  a 
fur  cap  tilted  over  his  eyes.  There  he  was  wont  to 
sit  all  day  long,  rising  only  to  wait  on  a  customer. 
The  leather  covering  of  his  chair-cushion  was  worn 
through  with  long  service  and  had  been  replaced  by 
a  sheet  of  blotting-paper. 

Solomon  was  in  the  habit  of  opening  his  shop  early 
and  taking  his  seat  in  the  doorway  ;  for  no  one  could 
tell  when  good  luck  might  bring  him  a  customer.  It 
was  hardly  eight  o'clock  when  Richard  strode  down 
the  narrow  street  and  paused  at  the  old  Jew's  door. 

"  Is  this  Solomon's  shop  }  "  he  asked. 


THE   OLD   CURIOSITY  SHOP.  83 

The  old  man  in  the  caftan  drew  his  feet  from  under 
his  chair,  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  pushing  back  his 
fur  cap  so  that  his  caller  might  have  a  good  view 
of  his  smiling  face,  made  answer : 

"  Your  humble  servant,  sir.  This  is  the  place,  and 
I  shall  be  most  happy  to  serve  Captain  Baradlay." 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  me  ? "  asked  the  young  officer, 
in  surprise. 

"  Why  should  I  not  know  Captain  Baradlay .-' " 
returned  the  old  man,  with  an  ingratiating  smile. 
"  I  know  him  very  well,  and  he  is  a  man  I  am  proud 
to  know." 

Richard  could  not  imagine  how  this  acquaintance 
had  risen.  It  was  hardly  probable  that  he  had  ever 
met  Solomon  at  a  military  review  or  a  court  ball,  and 
he  was  sure  he  had  never  borrowed  any  money  of  the 
old  Jew. 

"Then  you  doubtless  know  also,"  said  he,  "that  I 
have  come  to  see  you  concerning  a  picture  that  my 
servant  left  here  yesterday  by  mistake.  I  did  not 
intend  to  offer  it  for  sale." 

"Yes,  yes,"  rejoined  the  Jew,  "I  know  that  very 
well,  and  for  that  reason  I  made  bold  to  request  the 
favour  of  a  visit  from  you  to  my  poor  establishment,  in 
order  that  we  might  talk  about  the  picture." 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  about  it,"  inter- 
posed Richard,  with  vexation.  "  I  will  not  sell  it ;  I 
am  going  to  destroy  it." 


84  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

''But,  my  dear  sir,"  protested  the  other,  smihng 
blandly,  "  why  lose  our  temper  over  the  matter  ? 
That  is  bad  for  the  health.  I  certainly  have  no 
intention  of  retaining  the  picture  by  force.  I  merely 
desired  the  honour  of  a  call  from  you,  and  you  are  per- 
fectly free  to  do  as  you  choose  in  the  matter.  We 
like  to  cultivate  new  acquaintances.  Who  knows 
but  they  may  be  useful  some  day  .'*  Do  me  the 
honour,  Captain,  to  enter  my  house.  The  painting  is 
up-stairs.     Pray  walk  up." 

Richard  complied  and  ascended  to  the  next  floor, 
while  the  Jew  locked  his  shop-door  before  following 
him.  Reaching  the  head  of  the  stairs,  the  young 
man  was  astonished  at  what  met  his  eyes.  He 
almost  thought  himself  in  a  royal  museum.  Three 
communicating  apartments  were  filled  with  the  cost- 
liest articles  of  luxury,  —  carved  furniture,  Japanese 
and  Etruscan  vases,  rare  old  china,  jewelry  of  the 
finest  workmanship,  ancient  armour  and  weapons, 
and  many  masterpieces  of  painting  and  sculpture. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  the  looks  of  things  up 
here.''"  asked  Solomon,  when  he  had  rejoined  his 
guest.  "  It  is  worth  while  coming  up  to  look  around 
a  little,  isn't  it }  " 

Richard  could  not  sate  himself  with  examining  all 
that  met  his  view.  Meanwhile  the  Jew  continued 
his  confidential  chat. 

"The  gentlemen  and  ladies,"  said  he,  "even  those 


THE    OLD    CURIOSITY  SHOP.  85 

in  the  very  highest  circles,  honour  me  with  their  pat- 
ronage and  confidence,  knowing  that  I  can  be  as  mum 
as  an  oyster.  I  know  who  sent  in  each  one  of  these 
articles,  —  one  from  Count  So-and-so,   another  from 

Prince  Blank,  a  third  from  Baron  X ,  and  so  on  ; 

but  no  secret  of  that  kind  ever  passes  my  lips.  Sol- 
omon knows  the  history  of  all  these  things,  and  why 
they  were  sold,  but  he  never  breathes  a  word  to  any 
mortal  soul." 

"Very  commendable  on   his  part,   I    am    sure," 
assented  Richard  ;  "  but  where  is  my  picture  .■*  " 

"  Why  in  such  a  hurry  }  "  asked  the  other.  "  Am  I 
likely  to  run  off  with  it }  Have  the  kindness  to  look 
around  a  bit,  and  meantime  perhaps  we  can  drive  a 
little  bargain." 

"  No,  not  so  far  as  the  painting  is  concerned," 
declared  the  hussar  officer.  "  It  is  a  portrait  ;  and, 
even  though  I  may  be  at  odds  with  the  original,  yet  I 
cannot  insult  her  by  selling  her  likeness." 

The  old  shopkeeper  drew  his  guest  with  him  into 
the  adjoining  room,  whose  walls  were  covered  with 
portraits  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  in  oil,  water-colours,  and 
pastel,  mostly  representing  young  men  and  women, 
while  a  pile  of  unframed  pictures  stood  in  one  corner. 

"  How  did  you  ever  get  hold  of  so  many  portraits  .-'  " 
asked  the  astonished  visitor. 

"  Oh,  that  is  simple  enough,"  replied  the  Jew ; 
"  you  see,  young  people  have  a  way  of  falling  in  love 


86  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

and  then  falling  out  again.  They  hang  a  portrait 
over  their  bed,  and  presently  their  taste  changes  and 
another  takes  its  place.  Then  when  a  young  gentle- 
man wishes  to  marry,  he  finds  it  inadvisable  to  keep 
a  lot  of  strange  portraits  in  his  house." 

"  And  so  he  sells  them  .-'  "  asked  Richard. 

Solomon  made  a  significant  gesture  with  his  open 
hands.     "Judge  for  yourself,"  said  he. 

"Well,"  rejoined  the  other,  "I  am  not  much  sur- 
prised at  people's  selling  some  of  these  faces  ;  but 
how  in  the  world  do  you  find  purchasers  for  them. 
Who  would  ever  want  one  of  this  collection  .''  " 

Solomon  smiled  knowingly,  and  tilted  forward  and 
backward  on  his  toes  and  heels. 

"  I  know  the  original  of  your  picture,"  said  he. 
"  She  visits  me  occasionally.  What  if  she  should 
see  her  likeness  among  the  others .''  That  kind 
of  costume-portrait  always  fetches  a  magnificent 
price." 

"Such  an  injury,  however,"  declared  the  cavalry 
officer,  "  I  will  not  do  her.  Though  we  may  not  be 
on  the  best  of  terms,  I  will  not  give  her  cause  to 
despise  me." 

"  A  most  praiseworthy  determination  !  "  exclaimed 
the  dealer,  warmly.  "  But  may  I  ask  whether  you 
are  thinking  of  marrying,  and  so  wish  to  put  another 
portrait  in  the  old  one's  place .''  In  that  case,  at  what 
price  would  you  part  with  this  Miss  Danaé  ? " 


THE    OLD   CURIOSITY  SHOP.  8/ 

Richard  made  an  impatient  movement.  "  I  have 
already  told  you  that  I  will  not  sell  the  picture,"  said 
he.     "I  demand  it  back." 

"  Well,  well,  no  offence,"  returned  the  other,  sooth- 
ingly. *'  I  didn't  presume  to  offer  you  any  ten  or 
twenty  florins  for  it ;  that  would  be  an  insult  to  a 
Richard  Baradlay.  But,  how  about  an  exchange  for 
some  other  beautiful  picture,  —  some  mythological 
study  .''     I  have  a  large  collection  to  choose  from." 

Richard  laughed  in  spite  of  himself.  "  No,  friend 
Solomon,"  said  he,  "we  can't  make  a  trade  to-day. 
I  will  not  give  the  Danaé  in  exchange  for  any  pic- 
ture, however  beautiful  or  mythological.  I  won't 
exchange  it  for  all  the  world." 

"  Well,  well,  why  so  positive .''  Supposing  we  should 
find  something,  after  all.  Let's  look  around  a  bit ; 
it  won't  cost  us  anything." 

So  saying,  the  old  dealer  drew  his  guest  toward  the 
pile  of  unframed  portraits  leaning  against  the  wall  in 
a  corner,  and  began  to  turn  them  over,  one  by  one. 
Suddenly  the  young  man  at  his  side  uttered  a  pas- 
sionate interjection. 

"Aha!"  cried  the  Jew,  in  triumph  ;<"  have  we 
found  something  at  last  worth  hunting  for } "  And 
he  drew  out  the  picture  that  had  caused  the  other's 
hasty  exclamation,  dusted  it  with  his  sleeve,  and  held 
it  up  to  the  light,  where  Richard  could  see  it. 

*'That  is  my  portrait !  "  cried  the  young  man. 


88  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  it  is,"  replied  the  other.  "It  has 
been  here  six  months  or  so.  Miss  Danaé,  as  you 
see,  was  less  scrupulous  than  you,  and  she  sold  it  to 
me  half  a  year  ago.  Five  silver  florins  was  the  price 
I  paid  for  it." 

"  And  what  will  you  take  for  the  picture  now  }  " 

"  This  picture  }  Your  own  picture  .-'  As  I  have 
already  said,  I'll  give  it  in  exchange." 

*'  Done  !  "  cried  Richard. 

"  Ah,  Captain,  you  are  too  hasty  in  closing  a  bar- 
gain," said  the  old  man.  "  Be  more  cautious.  Any 
one  but  old  Solomon  would  be  likely  to  take  advan- 
tage of  you.  You  might  have  made  me  pay  you 
something  to  boot." 

"  Send  home  my  picture,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
enough  to  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair," 
returned  Richard.  "  After  that  you  may  squeeze 
Miss  Danaé  for  a  million,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Oh,  Captain,"  protested  the  Jew,  in  an  injured 
tone,  "  Solomon  never  does  that  sort  of  thing ;  he 
always  does  what  is  right  and  just.  Every  man 
knows  his  worth,  and  Solomon  is  content  with  what- 
ever pricc^s  named.  He  is  no  extortioner.  Look 
here,  just  to  show  you  how  fair  I  am,  I  want  to  call 
your  attention  to  the  frame.  We  agreed  to  exchange 
the  pictures,  but  how  about  the  frame  .■* " 

"What  frame.?" 

"Why,  the  frame  to   the   Danaé.     She  sent   me 


THE    OLD    CURIOSITY  SHOP.  89 

your  portrait  without  any  frame.  Probably  she  used 
it  for  another  picture.  So  you  see  the  frame  to  your 
Danaé  isn't  included  in  the  bargain." 

The  old  man's  anxiety  to  be  fair  began  to  vex 
Richard.  "  Oh,  don't  worry  about  the  frame  !  "  he 
cried,  impatiently.  "  Surely  you  don't  want  me  to 
insist  on  your  paying  five  florins  for  it .-' " 

"  Well,  well,  why  waste  so  much  noble  wrath.''" 
rejoined  the  old  dealer.  "A  paltry  five  florins, 
indeed !  I  made  you  no  such  pitiful  offer,  but  I 
have  all  sorts  of  curiosities  here  that  might  please 
Captain  Baradlay.  Suppose  we  arrange  another  little 
trade.  Let  us  look  about  for  a  few  moments  ;  it 
won't  cost  us  anything.  I  have  some  splendid 
weapons  here, — all  sorts  of  swords  and  daggers." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  am  already  supplied.  I  have  a 
whole  arsenal  of  them  at  home." 

"  But  what  if  we  should  find  something  here  that 
you  lack  }  "  persisted  the  Jew.  "  It  won't  cost  you  a 
penny  to  look  around.  Perhaps  we  can  make  another 
trade,  after  all.  Well,  well,  I  won't  mention  the 
frame  ;  I'll  merely  reckon  it  in  and  charge  you  so 
much  the  less  for  anything  here  that  may  take  your 
fancy.  You  shall  pay  me  something  in  cash,  so  that 
a  florin,  at  least,  may  pass  between  us.  You  see,  we 
have  a  superstition  that,  unless  the  first  sale  of  the 
day  leaves  us  with  a  little  money  in  our  hand,  even 
though  it  be  but  the  merest  trifle,  the  whole  day  will 


QO  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

be  unlucky.  For  that  reason  the  first  customer  in 
the  morning  is  hkely  to  make  a  good  bargain  on  his 
purchase ;  for  we  won't  let  him  go  without  sell- 
ing him  something,  even  if  we  are  forced  to  sell 
below  cost,  just  so  that  we  see  the  colour  of  his 
money." 

Richard  yielded  perforce  to  the  old  man's  impor- 
tunity and  followed  him  into  a  third  room,  which  was 
filled  with  a  large  assortment  of  armour  and  weapons 
of  all  nations. 

"A  regular  arsenal,  isn't  it?"  exclaimed  Solomon, 
rubbing  his  hands  complacently. 

The  young  officer  felt  in  his  element  as,  with  the 
eye  of  a  connoisseur,  he  surveyed  the  splendid  collec- 
tion. Suddenly  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  brown 
blade  with  a  simple  hilt  and  without  a  scabbard.  He 
took  it  up  and  examined  it  more  closely. 

"Aha!"  cried  the  dealer,  much  pleased,  ''you've 
hit  it  the  first  time.  I  was  sure  it  wouldn't  escape 
the  eye  of  an  expert.  That  is  a  genuine  Crivelli 
blade,  and  I  have  been  offered  ten  ducats  for  it ; 
but  I  won't  part  with  it  for  less  than  fifteen.  It  is 
positively  genuine,  no  imitation." 

Richard  held  the  sword  up  to  the  light.  "  That  is 
not  a  Crivelli,"  he  declared. 

The  dealer  was  deeply  injured.  "Sir,"  he  pro- 
tested, "  Solomon  never  deceives.  When  I  say  it  is 
a  genuine  Crivelli,  you  may  trust  my  word  for  it." 


THE    OLD    CURIOSITY  SHOP.  9 1 

Therewith  he  bent  the  blade  m  his  trembling  hands 
and  caused  it  to  encircle  his  visitor's  waist  like  a  belt. 
"See  there!"  he  cried  triumphantly;  "the  point 
kisses  the  hilt." 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  taking  the  sword 
from  him  again;  "and  now  I'll  show  you  a  little 
trick,  if  you  have  an  old  musket  that  is  of  no  use." 

"Take  any  you  choose,"  returned  Solomon,  point- 
ing to  a  pyramid  of  rusty  firearms. 

Richard  selected  one  of  the  heaviest  and  leaned 
it  obliquely  against  the  pile,  barrel  upward.  "  Now 
stand  aside  a  little,  please,"  said  he. 

The  old  Jew  drew  back  and  watched  the  young 
man  curiously.  The  latter  gave  the  sword  a  quick 
swing  through  the  air  and  brought  it  down  sharply 
on  the  musket-barrel,  which  fell  in  two  pieces  to 
the  floor,  cleanly  severed.  Old  Solomon  was  lost 
in  amazement.  First  he  examined  the  sword-blade, 
next  the  divided  musket-barrel,  and  then  he  felt  of 
Richard's  arm. 

"  Heavens  and  earth,  that  was  a  stroke ! "  he 
exclaimed.  "When  I  cut  an  orange  in  two  I  have 
to  try  three  times  before  I  succeed.  You  are  a  man 
I  am  proud  to  know.  Captain  Baradlay,  —  a  man  of 
giant  strength !  Such  a  thick  musket-barrel,  and 
cut  in  two  with  one  stroke  as  if  it  were  of  paper !  " 

"This  sword  is  not  a  Crivelli,"  repeated  Richard, 
as  he  returned  the  weapon  ;   "  it  is  a  genuine  Al- 


92  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Bohacen    Damascus   blade,  and  worth,  between  you 
and  me,  one  hundred  ducats." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  with  a 
deprecatory  gesture  of  both  hands.  "  I  have  named 
the  price  as  fifteen  ducats,  no  more  and  no  less. 
That  is  my  figure  ;  but  if  Captain  Baradlay  will  give 
the  Danaé  and  frame,  with  one  ducat  into  the  bar- 
gain, he  may  have  the  sword.  I  won't  sleep  another 
night  under  the  same  roof  with  such  a  weapon." 

Richard  smiled.  "  But  the  Danaé  I  have  already 
exchanged  for  my  own  portrait,"  said  he. 
\  "  Oh,  your  portrait  doesn't  go  out  of  my  house 
now  for  any  money,"  declared  the  Jew.  "This  is 
the  first  time  in  my  life  that  a  gentleman  has  said 
to  me :  '  Solomon,  what  you  offer  me  for  fifteen 
ducats  is  worth  not  fifteen,  but  a  hundred  ;  it  is  not 
a  Crivelli,  but  an  Al-Bohacen.'  Such  another  por- 
trait is  not  to  be  found  in  all  the  world.  It  is  a 
rarity,  it  is  unique.  No,  no,  that  portrait  doesn't 
\leave  my  house  ;  it  stays  here.  Take  the  sword  and 
pay  me  a  ducat  to  boot  ;    then  we  shall  be  quits." 

The  young  man  hesitated.  Solomon  guessed  his 
thoughts.  "Have  no  fear,  sir,"  he  hastened  to  add 
reassuringly  ;  "  no  one  shall  see  your  portrait  in  my 
house.  I  will  hang  it  up  in  my  bedroom,  of  which, 
since  my  wife's  decease,  I  am  the  sole  occupant,  and 
which  no  stranger  will  ever  enter.  What  do  you 
say.''     Do  you  agree  to  the  terms.''" 


THE    OLD    CURIOSITY  SHOP.  93 

Richard  gave  his  hand  to  the  dealer  in  sign  of 
assent. 

"Very  well,  then.  Now  pay  me  a  ducat  into  the 
bargain."  The  old  Jew  touched  the  coin  with  his 
lips  and  then  dropped  it  into  his  long  purse.  "  Let 
me  wrap  up  the  sword  for  you,"  he  added.  "  My  ser- 
vant shall  deliver  it  at  your  door.  I  am  truly  de- 
lighted to  have  had  the  honour  ;  and  perhaps  it  won't 
bei  he  last  time,  either.  If  Captain  Baradlay  is  about 
to  marry,  I  am  always  at  his  service.  I  deal  in  all  the 
rare  and  beautiful  things  that  ever  charmed  a  pair  of 
pretty  eyes." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Richard  ;  "  but  she  whom  I 
am  to  marry  does  not  expect  to  live  in  a  palace." 

"  So  she  is  a  poor  girl,  is  she  }  "  asked  the  old  man. 
"Tell  me,  have  I  guessed  aright  ?  " 

But  the  young  officer  would  not  tarjy  longer ;  he 
moved  toward  the  door  and  prepared  to  take  his 
leave. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  dealer;  "I  won't 
trouble  the  captain  with  any  more  questions.  But 
old  Solomon  knows  a  good  many  things  of  which 
other  folks  never  dream.  Captain  Baradlay,  you  are 
a  man  of  gold  —  no,  I  mean  of  steel,  Damascene 
steel.  You  know,  of  course,  how  that  is  made :  gold 
and  steel  are  wrought  into  one.  Only  remain  as  you 
are  now,  —  of  gold  and  steel.  I  will  not  pry  into 
your  affairs,  but  let  me  ask  you  to  remember  the  old 


94  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

shopkeeper  at  Number  3  Porcelain  Street.  I  tell  you, 
an  honest  man  is  not  met  with  every  day.  Remem- 
ber my  words.  Some  day  you  will  fall  in  with  old 
Solomon  again,  and  then  you  will  understand  what  I 
mean." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  woman's  revenge. 

"Aranka,  my  clear  girl,  if  you  are  looking  for 
your  father,  you  will  look  in  vain  ;  he  won't  come 
back.  My  husband  has  just  received  a  letter  from 
Pest.  He  says  your  dear  father's  affair  is  going 
badly.  The  consistory  forbids  his  appearing  in  the 
pulpit,  and  he  has  been  summoned  to  Vienna.  He 
will  be  sentenced  to  ten  years,  at  least,  and  sent  to 
Kufstein.  Yes,  my  dear,  there's  no  help  for  it.  But 
you  mustn't  weep  so.  There  is  a  good  Father  in 
heaven,  and  he  will  care  for  the  forsaken.  God  be 
with  you,  my  dear  !  " 

With  this  cheerful  morning  greeting  the  wife  of 
Michael  Szalmás,  the  notary,  saluted  the  pastor's 
daughter,  as  the  latter  came  to  the  door  of  the  little 
parsonage  for  the  hundreth  time  and  looked  up  the 
street  along  which  she  had  seen  her  father  drive 
away  two  weeks  before. 

The  young  girl  went  back  into  the  house,  sat  down 
at  her  work-table,  and  resumed  her  sewing.  She  had 
hardly  done  so,  however,  when  a  carriage  drove  up 

95 


96  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

and  stopped  in  front  of  the  parsonage.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  hastened  joyfully  to  the  door.  Was 
it  really  her  father  come  back  to  her }  Upon  open- 
ing the  door  she  started  back  in  surprise.  Not  her 
father,  but  the  widowed  Baroness  Baradlay,  dressed 
in  deep  mourning,  which  accentuated  her  pallor,  stood 
before  Aranka. 

The  girl  bowed  and  kissed  with  deep  respect  the 
offered  hand  of  the  high-born  lady. 

"Good  morning,  my  child,"  said  the  visitor.  "I 
have  come  to  have  a  talk  with  you  on  certain  matters 
that  must  be  settled  between  us." 

Aranka  offered  the  lady  a  seat  on  the  sofa.  The 
widow  motioned  to  the  girl  to  be  seated  opposite 
her. 

"  First,"  she  began,  "  I  must  inform  you,  to  my 
great  regret,  that  your  father  has  got  into  trouble  on 
account  of  his  prayer  at  my  husband's  funeral.  I  am 
sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  He  will  probably  lose 
his  pastorate,  and  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Then  the  rumours  that  we  hear  are  true,"  sighed 
the  girl. 

"  Even  his  personal  liberty  is  in  danger,"  continued 
the  lady.  "  He  may  be  imprisoned,  and  if  so,  you 
will  not  see  him  for  a  long  time." 

Aranka  bowed  in  silence. 

"What  will  you  do  when  you  are  left  alone  and 
thrown  upon  your  own  resources  .■' " 


A    IVOMAN'S  REVENGE.  97 

"  I  am  prepared  for  the  worst,"  was  the  cahii 
reply. 

"  Pray  look  upon  me  as  your  well-wisher  and  would- 
be  benefactress,"  said  the  widow.  *'  My  bereavement 
is  the  indirect  cause  of  your  misfortune,  which  I 
should  like  to  make  as  light  for  you  as  possible. 
Speak  to  me  unreservedly,  my  child.  Whither  will 
you  go,  and  what  do  you  intend  to  do .''  I  will  help 
you  all  I  can." 

"  I  shall  stay  here,  madam,"  retunred  the  other, 
straightening  herself  with  dignity  and  calmly  meeting 
her  visitor's  look. 

"  But  }'ou  cannot  remain  here,  my  dear,  for  the 
parsonage  will  be  handed  over  to  another." 

"  My  father  owns  a  small  house  in  the  village ;  I 
will  move  into  it." 

"  And  how  will  you  support  yourself  .-'  " 

"  I  will  work  and  earn  money." 

"  But  your  work  will  command  only  a  mere  pit- 
tance." 

"I  shall  be  content  with  little." 

"  And  when  your  father  is  held  in  confinement  in 
a  strange  city,  shall  you  not  wish  to  be  near  him  .? 
You  may  count  on  my  aid  ;  I  will  provide  for  your 
support." 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,  but  if  I  must  be  alone  I 
can  endure  my  loneliness  better  here  than  in  a  strange 
place ;  and  if  I  am  to  be  separated  from  my  father. 


98  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

it  is  all  one  whether  a  wall  three  feet  thick  parts  us, 
or  a  distance  of  thirty  miles." 

"  But  I  wish  to  make  amends,  as  far  as  possible, 
for  the  misfortune  which  my  bereavement  has  indi- 
rectly brought  upon  you.  I  will  make  such  provision 
for  you  as  to  render  you  independent.  Being  a 
fellow-sufferer  in  my  loss,  you  shall  also  share  a 
portion  of  my  wealth.     Put  your  trust  in  me." 

The  girl  only  shook  her  head,  without  speaking. 

"  But  pray  remember,"  pursued  the  baroness,  "  that 
good  friends  forsake  us  in  misfortune,  and  all  are  but 
too  prone  to  censure  the  unfortunate,  if  only  as  an 
excuse  for  withholding  their  aid.  You  are  young 
and  beautiful  now,  but  sorrow  ages  a  person  very 
rapidly.  In  a  new  environment  you  would  meet  with 
new  people,  while  here  every  word  and  look  is  sure 
to  injure  and  distress  you.  Accept  my  proffered 
assistance,  and  you  shall  at  all  times  find  a  friend 
and  protectress  in  me." 

At  this  the  girl  rose  to  her  feet.  "  I  thank  you, 
madam,"  said  she,  "for  your  kindness;  but  I  shall 
remain  here,  even  if  I  have  to  go  into  service  in  some 
peasant's  family  in  order  to  earn  my  bread.  You 
know  the  history  of  this  ring,"  —  showing  the  ring 
which  she  wore  on  the  little  finger  of  her  left  hand. 
"This  ring  holds  me  here,  immovable.  He  who 
placed  it  on  my  finger  said  to  me,  as  he  did  so  :  'I 
am  going  out   now   into  the  world  as  a  wandering 


A    WOMAN'S  REVENGE.  99 

pilgrim  ;  I  am  driven  forth  ;  but  whithersoever  fate 
may  lead  me,  I  shall  circle  around  this  spot  as  a 
planet  about  its  sun.  Do  you,  however,  stay  here. 
I  shall  come  back  to  you  some  day.'  Therefore, 
madam,  you  will  understand  that  I  cannot  go  away ; 
that  no  promises,  no  threats  can  move  me.  I  will 
suffer  want,  if  I  must,  but  I  will  remain  here." 

Baroness  Baradlay  now  rose  from  her  seat  also, 
and  took  in  her  own  the  girl's  hand  on  which  was 
the  ring.  "  Do  you,  then,  love  my  son } "  she 
asked ;  "  and  don't  you  believe  that  I  love  him 
too }  One  of  us  must  give  him  up.  Which  shall 
it  be.?" 

Aranka,  in  despair,  sought  to  free  her  hand  ;  but 
the  other  held  it  fast.  "  Oh,  dear  madam,"  she  cried, 
"  why  do  you  ask  me  that  question }  Whichever 
one  of  us  dies  first  will  give  him  up.  Do  you  wish 
to  make  me  take  my  own  life  .''  " 

The  widow  released  Aranka' s  hand  and  stood 
looking  into  her  eyes  with  a  kindly  smile.  "No," 
she  replied,  "  I  wish  him  to  belong  to  both  of  us. 
He  shall  be  yours,  and  you  shall  be  mine.  You  shall 
be  my  daughter.  Come  home  with  me  and  keep  me 
company  until  my  son  returns  ;  then  you  shall  love 
each  other,  while  I  will  content  myself  with  what 
crumbs  of  love  you  may  have  to  spare." 

The  young  girl  could  not  believe  her  ears  ;  she 
thought  she  must  be  dreaming.     "  Oh,  madam,"  she 


lOO  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

cried,  "  what  you  say  is  too  beautiful  to  be  true.  I 
cannot  understand  it." 

The  baroness  sighed.  "Is  my  face  then  so  cold," 
she  asked,  "and  my  voice  so  chill,  that  you  cannot 
think  me  capable  of  wishing  your  happiness  .''  But  I 
will  convince  you."  So  saying,  she  drew  the  girl  to 
her  side  on  the  sofa  and  took  a  letter  from  her 
bosom.  "  Look  here,"  said  she,  "  I  have  just  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Russia,  from  my  son,  whom  I 
have  called  home  from  St.  Petersburg.  I  re- 
strained my  desire  to  open  this  letter,  and  brought 
it  to  you,  that  you  might  open  it  and  read  it 
to  me.  Are  you  aware  what  that  means  in  a 
mother.''" 

Aranka  bowed  her  head  and  touched  the  other's 
hand  with  her  lips. 

"There,  take  the  letter,"  said  the  baroness,  "and 
read  it  aloud.     You  know  the  writing  V 

Aranka  received  the  letter,  but  had  no  sooner 
looked  at  the  address  than  the  glad  smile  vanished 
from  her  face.  She  shook  her  head  and  turned  her 
large  eyes  with  suq^rised  inquiry  upon  the  baroness. 

"  What  is  the  matter  .-'  "  asked  the  latter. 

"That  is  not  his  writing,"  stammered  the  girl. 

"  What  do  you  say  .''  "  demanded  the  other.  "  Let 
me  look  again  ;  I  ought  to  know  my  son's  handwrit- 
ing. That  is  his  B ;  that  strong  downward  stroke, 
the  manly  firmness  in  every  letter  —  " 


A    WOMAN'S  REVENGE.  101 

"Are  very  cleverly  imitated,"  interrupted  Aranka, 
completing  the  sentence. 

"But  look  again,"  urged  the  baroness;  "the  very 
words  of  the  address  —  á  ma  trcs-adorablc  mere  — 
can  only  have  been  written  by  my  son.  Open  the 
letter  and  you  will  be  convinced." 

A  look  of  joy  lighted  up  the  young  girl's  face 
when  the  beginning  of  the  letter  met  her  eyes. 
"That  is  really  his  writing,  —  '  My  dear  mother.'  " 

"There,  didn't  I  tell  you  so!  "  declared  the  other 
in  triumph. 

But,  as  when  a  cloud  suddenly  passes  over  the  sun, 
Aranka's  bright  face  lost  its  radiance  the  next  moment. 

"  What  is  it  this  time  .'' "  asked  the  baroness. 

"  Only  those  first  three  words  are  in  his  hand ;  the 
rest  is  written  by  some  one  else,  and  in  French," 

"  By  some  one  else  }     Oh,  read  quickly  !  " 

The  letter  trembled  in  the  girl's  hands.  "  *  Dear 
madam,'  "  she  read  ;  "  'forgive  the  well-meant  decep- 
tion committed  by  me  on  the  cover  of  this  letter.  To 
spare  you  unnecessary  alarm,  I  have  imitated  my 
friend's  handwriting  —  for  which  I  must  go  to  the 
galleys  if  you  betray  me.  Ödön  wished  to  write 
himself,  but  after  the  first  three  words  the  pen  fell 
from  his  hand.  He  is  still  very  weak.  Don't  be 
alarmed,  however.  He  was  in  great  danger,  but  is 
now  happily  on  the  road  to  recovery.  In  two  weeks 
more  he  will  be  able  to  resume  his  journey.'  " 


Í02  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  He  was  in  great  danger !  "  exclaimed  the  anxious 
mother.  "  Oh,  read  on,  read  on !  "  Despite  her 
own  agitation,  she  did  not  fail  to  note  how  deeply 
the  girl  was  affected.  Aranka  was  forced  to  use 
the  utmost  self-command  in  order  to  go  on  with  the 
letter. 

" '  I  will  write  you  everything  without  reserve,  just 
as  it  occurred.  When  Ödön  received  your  letter  call- 
ing him  home,  he  dropped  everything  and  hastened 
to  set  out.  I  resolved  to  accompany  him  as  far  as 
the  border,  but  would  that  I  had  not !  Then  he 
would  have  stopped  over  at  Smolensk,  and  would  not 
have  been  overtaken  by  a  snow-storm  ;  we  should 
not  have  been  chased  by  wolves  and  compelled  to 
save  our  lives  by  skating  for  two  hours  down  the 
Dnieper. 

" '  Your  son  Ödön,  my  dear  madam,  is  a  son  to  be 
proud  of.  When  one  of  my  skates  came  off  in  the 
course  of  our  headlong  flight,  and  I  was  left  helpless 
by  the  accident,  he  turned,  single-handed,  against  pur 
pursuers,  and,  with  dagger  and  pistols,  warded  them 
off  while  I  buckled  on  my  skate  again.  He  killed 
four  of  the  pack,  and  I  owe  it  to  him  that  I  am  now 
alive.'  " 

This  praise  of  her  son  brought  a  flush  of  pride  to 
the  mother's  cheek ;  but  she  saw  that  the  maiden's 
colour  left  her  face  entirely  as  she  read  on,  and  that 
her  agitation  nearly  made  her  drop  the  letter.     The 


A    WOMAN'S  REVENGE.  103 

girl's  love  was  not  that  of  the  Spartan  mother,  and 
the  heroic  deed  of  daring  dismayed  her  while  it 
delighted  the  other. 

" '  Then  we  resumed  our  flight,  and  it  was  a  race 
for  life,  with  a  pack  of  two  hundred  wolves  at  our 
heels.' " 

"  Heavens !  "  exclaimed  the  mother,  herself  now 
greatly  alarmed.  Aranka  read  on  with  halting 
accents. 

"  '  We  were  nearing  a  place  of  refuge,  —  a  military 
guard-house,  —  when  we  came  to  a  dangerous  spot, 
where  some  fishermen  had  cut  a  hole  in  the  ice. 
Not  noticing  the  place,  as  it  was  frozen  over  with  a 
thin  sheet  of  ice,  we  broke  through  and  sank.' " 

"  Merciful  God !  "  cried  the  baroness,  losing  her 
self-control.  Aranka  sank  back  in  a  faint  and  was 
with  difficulty  restored  to  consciousness  by  the  minis- 
trations of  her  companion.  At  length  the  two,  hold- 
ing the  letter  before  them  both,  read  on  in  silence. 

"  My  amulet  saved  my  life.  It  was  a  parting  gift 
from  my  mother,  and  I  had  tried  to  induce  my  friend 
to  wear  it,  but  he  would  not.  '  My  stars  are  my  pro- 
tection,' said  he,  and  confessed  that  his  stars  were 
loving  women's  eyes.  When  we  had  been  rescued 
from  our  cold  bath  by  the  fishermen,  I  remained 
constantly  by  Odon's  side  until  he  was  able  to  answer 
my  question,  '  Do  your  stars  still  shine  upon  you .-' ' 
'  All  four  of  them,'  said  he." 


104  ^^^   BARON'S  SONS. 

At  this  each  of  the  readers  felt  the  electric  thrill 
that  ran  through  the  other. 

"  Ödön  was  taken  with  a  fever  as  a  result  of  this 
mishap,  but  he  is  now  happily  over  the  worst  of  it.  I 
am  at  his  side  night  and  day.  This  morning  he  was 
determined  to  write  a  letter,  but  it  was  too  much  for 
him,  as  you  see.  I  was  obliged  to  take  the  pen  and 
write  for  him.  He  is  entirely  out  of  danger,  and  in 
two  weeks  we  shall  resume  our  journey.  Until  then 
I  beg  Ödön's  stars  not  to  weep  on  his  account ;  for 
under  Russian  skies  star-tears  turn  to  snow,  and  of 
snow  we  have  already  more  than  enough. 

"  Leonin    Ramiroff." 

The  two  pairs  of  stars  looked  at  each  other  and 
beamed  with  heavenly  joy.  Baroness  Baradlay  drew 
Aranka  to  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  whis- 
pering tenderly  :  ''  My  daughter  !  " 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE     UNDERSCORED     LINES. 

Some  one  was  expected  at  the  castle  :  a  letter  had 
been  received  from  Ödön  —  this  time  written  by  his 
own  hand  and  mailed  at  Lemberg -^  announcing  in 
advance  his  early  arrival.  In  the  afternoon  the  bar- 
oness ordered  her  carriage  and  drove  to  meet  her  son. 
Halting  at  Szunyogos,  she  there  awaited  his  coming. 
Ödön  arrived  promptly  at  the  appointed  time.  The 
meeting  of  mother  and  son  was  tenderly  affectionate. 

"How  you  frightened  me  with  your  accident!" 
exclaimed  the  baroness,  half  in  reproach. 

"That  is  now  happily  over,"  rejoined  Ödön,  kissing 
his  mother.     "We  have  each  other  once  more." 

Entering  his  mother's  carriage,  the  young  man  pro- 
ceeded without  delay,  in  her  company,  to  Nemesdomb. 
After  he  had  exchanged  his  travel-stained  clothes  for 
fresh  garments,  his  mother  led  him  into  his  father's 
apartments. 

"These  rooms,"  said  she,  "will  now  be  for  your 
use.  You  must  receive  the  people  that  come  to 
visit   us.      Henceforth  you  are  master  here  and  will 

105 


I06  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

exercise  that  supervision  over  the  estate  which  it 
so  sadly  needs.  Our  house  enjoys  great  repute 
in  the  county,  and  you  must  decide  what  position 
you  will  take,  what  circle  of  acquaintances  you  will 
gather  around  you,  and  what  part  you  will  play  as 
leader.  Have  you  taken  thought  that  as  eldest  son 
you  will  be  called  upon  to  assume  the  lord-lieutenancy 
of  the  county,  which  has  so  long  been  in  our  family  .-*  " 

"  An  administrator,  as  I  am  told,  now  sits  in  the 
lord  lieutenant's  chair,"  observed  the  son. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  mother,  "  because  the  actual 
lord  lieutenant  was  an  invalid  and  unable  to  preside  in 
person  over  the  county  assemblies.  But  you  are 
well  and  strong,  and  it  rests  with  you  to  see  that  no 
one  usurps  your  rights." 

Ödön  looked  into  his  mother's  eyes.  "  Mother," 
said  he,  "  it  was  not  for  this  reason  that  you  called 
me  home." 

"  You  are  right.  I  had  another  motive.  I  must 
tell  you  that  your  father  left  directions  in  his  will 
that,  six  weeks  after  his  death,  I  should  give  my  hand 
in  marriage  to  the  administrator.  A  betrothal  cere- 
mony, accordingly,  is  the  immediate  occasion  of  the 
coming  together  of  our  acquaintances.  Your  father 
wished  our  house  to  gain  a  new  support,  able  to  bear 
the  burden  that  will  be  imposed  upon  it." 

"  If  it  was  my  father's  will  and  is  yours  also  —  " 
began  the  son. 


THE    UNDERSCORED   LINES.  10/ 

"  Is  my  will,  then,  of  supreme  authority  with  you  ?  " 
asked  the  mother. 

"  You  know  that,  it  is  my  highest  law,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Very  well.  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  my  will 
really  is.  The  house  of  Baradlay  needs  a  master  and 
a  mistress, — a  master  to  command  and  guide,  a  mis- 
tress with  power  to  win  hearts.  A  master  it  will  find 
in  — you." 

Ödön  started  in  surprise. 

"  You  will  be  the  master,  and  your  wife  the  mis- 
tress, of  this  house." 

The  young  man  sighed  heavily.  "  Mother,  you 
know  this  cannot  be,"  said  he. 

"  Will  you  not  marry  .''  " 

"  Never !  " 

"  Make  no  such  rash  vow.  You  are  but  twenty-four 
years  old.  You  were  not  born  to  be  a  Carthusian 
monk.  The  world  is  full  of  pretty  faces  and  loving 
hearts,  and  even  you  are  sure  to  find  one  for  yourself." 

"-You  know  there  is  none  among  them  for  me," 
returned  the  young  man. 

"  But  what  if  I  have  already  found  one } " 

"Your  quest  has  been  in  vain,  mother." 

"  Say  not  so,"  rejoined  the  other,  tenderly  drawing 
her  son  to  her  side.  "  Can  you  pass  judgment  with- 
out first  seeing }  She  whom  I  have  chosen  is  good 
and  beautiful,  and  loves  you  fondly." 

4 


I08  THE    BARON'S  SONS. 

"  She  may  be  as  beautiful  as  a  fairy  and  as  good  as 
an  angel,  with  a  heart  more  full  of  love  than  even 
your  own  ;    yet  I  care  not  to  see  her." 

"  Oh,  do  not  speak  so  rashly  ;  you  might  repent  it. 
I  am  sure  you  will  retract  your  words  when  you  see 
her  face.  Come,  I  will  show  it  to  you  in  the  next 
room." 

"  It  will  have  no  effect  on  me,"  declared  Ödön. 

The  mother  led  her  son  to  the  door  and  let  him 
open  it  and  enter  first.  There  stood  Aranka,  trem- 
bling with  expectant  happiness. 

Hastening  to  her  own  room,  the  baroness  drew 
from  her  portfolio  the  memorable  document  dictated 
to  her  by  her  dying  husband,  and  underscored  with  a 
red  pencil  the  lines  referring  to  the  event  which  that 
day  had  witnessed. 

"Thus  far  it  is  accomplished,"  she  said  to  herself. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    BETROTHAL, 

It  was  no  longer  a  secret,  but  was  in  everybody's 
mouth,  that  sLx  v/eeks  after  the  funeral  there  was  to 
be  a  betrothal  ceremony  in  the  Baradlay  house,  and 
the  latter  was,  they  said,  to  receive  a  new  name. 
Friends  and  neighbours  from  the  country  around 
had  been  invited  in  the  baroness's  name  to  a  family 
festival. 

There  was  a  great  bustle  of  expectation  when  it 
was  announced  that  the  hero  of  the  day,  Benedict- 
Rideghváry,  was  coming,  seated  in  a  brand-new  coach 
which  was  drawn  by  five  splendid  horses.  On  the  box 
was  perched  a  magnificent  hussar,  who  sprang  down 
to  open  the  carriage  door  and  to  help  the  great  man 
alight  with  all  the  dignity  demanded  by  his  lofty 
rank  and   the  importance  of   the  occasion. 

"My  dear  sir,"  one  of  the  administrator's  friends 
hastened  to  announce  to  him,  with  considerable  con- 
cern in  his  tone,  "  I  notice  a  good  many  strange  faces 
in  there." 

109 


no  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"Very  likely,  Zebulon," ^answered  the  administra- 
tor, briefly. 

"That  is,  I  know  the  faces  well  enough,"  explained 
the  other,  "but  the  people  are  strangers  to  me." 

"I  don't  understand,"  returned  Rideghváry,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Don't  understand  }  "  repeated  Zebulon  Tallérossy 
impatiently ;  "  but  you  will  understand  as  soon  as 
you  are  pleased  to  look  around.  The  hall  is  full  of 
people  belonging  to  |he  opposition  ;  we  know  them, 
but  we  are  not  on  terms  of  acquaintance  with  them." 

The  great  man  now  found  the  matter  worthy  of 
his  attention,  but  did  not  allow  it  to  cause  him  undue 
concern.  The  principal  men  of  the  county,  he  said 
to  himself,  had  come  to  pay  their  compliments  to  the 
son  and  heir,  without  regard  to  party.  It  was  merely 
a  conventional  form,  and  was,  he  felt  sure,  entirely 
without  political  significance.  Nevertheless,  he  would 
have  preferred  not  to  meet  in  that  house  his  inveter- 
ate opponent  at  the  Green  Table,  Tormándy  ;  but  the 
Baradlay  mansion  was  on  that  day  open  to  all  comers, 
of  whatever  party. 

Among  the  early  arrivals  was  the  much-persecuted 
priest,  the  Reverend  Bartholomew  Lánghy,  Aranka's 
father,  whose  appearance  was  a  suqorise  to  many  of 
the  guests.  His  bearing  was  that  of  one  whose  part 
in  the  festivities  of  the  day  was  to  be  of  no  small 
importance.      Indeed,   the  preparations  for  a  grand 


THE  BETROTHAL.  Ill 

function  were  so  manifest  on  every  side  that  Ridegh- 
váry's  good  friend,  Zebulon  yallérossy,  soon  came  to 
him  for  further  information. 

"  So  there  is  to  b^a  grand  ceremony,  is  there  ? " 
he  asked. 

"Certainly,"  was  the  reply;  "the  bridegroom's 
spokesman  goes  to  the  bride's  representative  and 
makes  formal  petition  for  her  hand  in  marriage. 
Receiving  a  favourable  reply,  he  returns  to  the  bride- 
groom, the  double  doors  are  thrown  open,  and  the 
retinue  of  ladies  enters  with  the  bride  at  its  head. 
Then  comes  the  rest  of  the  ceremony." 

"Ah,  that  will  be  a  fine  spectacle." 

The  two  gentlemen  then  went  in  quest  of  Count 
Paul  Gálfalvy^  whom  the  administrator  had  chosen  to 
act  for  him  in  this  important  matter.  After  shaking 
hands,  they  began  to  exchange  witticisms  over  the 
great  number  of  their  political  opponents  who  had 
assembled  there  to  witness  their  enemy's  triumph. 
Thus  talking  and  laughing,  they  failed  to  note  that 
Tormándy  was  at  that  moment  engaged  in  earnest 
consultation  with  the  Reverend  Bartholomew  Lánghy. 
They  were  therefore  unpleasantly  surprised  when 
Tormándy's  stentorian  voice  fell  on  their  ears,  impos- 
ing a  sudden  hush  on  all  present. 

"  Silence  in  the  hall,  gentlemen  !  "  he  cried.  "We 
all  know  to  what  a  glad  festival  we  are  this  day 
invited.      A  new   sun   has   risen   over  the  house  of 


112  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Baracllay  in  the  person  of  its  new  head,  to  whom, 
both  for  his  own  sake  and  for  that  of  our  fatherland, 
we  heartily  wish  long  life  and  prosperity.  The  bride- 
groom, whom  Providence  has_  Cjilled  to  be  the  head  of 
this  house  in  the  vigour  of  his  youth,  — " 

"He  puts  it  rather  strongly,"  commented  Ridegh- 
váry  to  himself. 

"  —  has  commissioned  me  as  his  spokesman — " 

"  What's  that .''  "  exclaimed  Rideghváry  and  his 
friends,  looking  at  one  another  in  amazement. 

"  —  to  ask  the  representative  of  the  bride  whether 
hé  gives  his  consent  to  the  desired  union." 

By  this  time  the  administrator  and  those  at  his 
side  were  fairly  dumb  with  astonishment.  If  Tor- 
mándy  was  spokesman  for  the  bridegroom,  what 
part  was  Paul  Gálfalvy  supposed  to  play .''  And  who 
was  to  reply  for  the  bride .''  The  superintendent 
was  expected  to  discharge  that  function,  but  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  confusion  became  still 
worse  confounded  when  the  Reverend  Bartholomew 
Lánghy  stepped  forward  in  response  to  Tormándy's 
address,  and  in  clear  tones  thus  made  answer  : 

"Those  ordained  of  heaven  for  each  other  let 
naught  but  death  put  asunder.  Let  them  who  are 
already  one  in  love  be  joined  together  in  holy  matri- 
mony." 

"  The  parson  is  crazy ! "  exclaimed  Zebulon  in 
utter  bewilderment. 


THE   BETROTHAL.  II3 

But  the  solution  of  the  enigma  was  not  long 
delayed.  The  double  doors  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  hall  were  thrown  open  and  the  procession  of 
ladies  entered,  led  by  the  widow  Baradlay,  who 
presented  Aranka  Lánghy  to  the  assembled  company 
as  the  bride.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  —  the  elder 
lady  in  a  trailing  black  gown,  a  garnet  diadem  in  her 
hair,  and  a  long-unwonted  smile  lighting  up  her  face 
and  giving  her  the  aspect  of  a  beautiful  queen  ;  and 
the  fair  young  bride  at  her  side,  in  robe  of  white 
with  white  hyacinths  for  her  ornaments  and  a  modest 
blush  adding  its  charm  to  her  sweet  maidenly 
dignity.  Each  type  of  beauty,  so  entirely  opposite 
in  character,  was  perfect  in  its  kind. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  surprise  and  admiration 
among  the  guests,  and  all  pressed  forward  in  eager 
expectancy.  A  marble  table  with  a  gold  plate  on  it 
stood  near  the  folding  doors.  Over  the  plate  was 
spread  a  lace  napkin.  The  bridal  party  took  their 
places  at  this  table,  and  the  priest,  Aranka's  father, 
removed  the  napkin  from  the  plate,  revealing  two 
simple  gold  rings.  One  of  these  he  then  put  on 
Ödön's  finger,  and  the  other  on  Aranka's.  Finally 
he  placed  the  bride's  hand  in  the  groom's.  No  word 
was  spoken,  there  was  nothing  but  this  simple  cere- 
mony ;  but  it  was  impressive  in  the  extreme.  The 
whole  company  broke  into  cheers,  and  even  Zebulon 
Tallérossy  caught  himself  shouting  to  the  full  capacity 


114  ^-^-^   BARON'S  SONS. 

of  his  lungs  ;  he  only  recognised  his  mistake  upon  meet- 
ing the  glance  of  the  administrator,  who  looked  at  him 
with  severe  disapproval,  whereupon  the  other  endeav- 
oured to  atone  for  his  misplaced  enthusiasm  by  acting 
on  a  brilliant  suggestion  that  suddenly  occurred  to  him. 

"  So  there  is  to  be  a  double  betrothal,"  he 
remarked,  blandly,  to  the  would-be  bridegroom ; 
but  the  latter  only  turned  his  back  upon  him  with 
a  muttered  imprecation. 

Administrator  Rideghváry  was  the  first  to  take  his 
departure ;  but  before  he  went  he  had  a  final  inter- 
view with  the  woman  whom  he  had  hoped  to  claim 
as  his  bride  that  day. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  as  he  bade  her  farewell,  "this 
is  the  last  time  I  shall  have  the  happiness  to  be  the 
guest  of  the  Baradlay  family.  I  should  not  have 
believed  the  greatest  prophet,  had  he  foretold  to  me 
this  morning  what  was  about  to  occur.  And  yet  I 
myself  am  not  without  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  [You, 
madam,  and  your  son  have  deviated  from  the  course 
laid  down  for  you  in  his  dying  hour  by  that  great 
man,  your  husband  and  my  sincere  friend.  That 
course  he  communicated  to  me  before  broaching  the 
matter  to  you.  You  have  chosen  the  very  opposite 
path  to  that  which  he  opened  for  you,  and  I  beg 
you  to  remember  in  future  what  I  now  say  :  the  way 
you  have  chosen  leads  upward,  but  the  height  to 
which  it  leads  is  —  the  scaffold!" 


CHAPTER    XL 


THE    FIRST    STEP. 


Three  days  after  the  betrothal  a  county  assembly 
was  held'  under  the  presidency  of  Administrator 
Rideghváry. 

At  an  early  hour  the  white  feathers  and  the  black 
—  the  badges  of  the  Progressive  and  the  Conservative 
parties  respectively  —  began  to  appear.  But  not  only 
were  white  and  black  feathers  conspicuous  ;  loaded 
canes,  also,  and  stout  cudgels  were  seen  peeping  out 
from  overhanging  mantles,  to  be  brought  forth  in  case 
some  convincing  and  irrefutable  argument  should  be 
needed  in  the  heat  of  debate. 

Punctually  at  nine  o'clock  Rideghváry  called  the 
meeting  to  order.  The  Progressives  had  planned  an 
energetic  protest  against  an  alleged  unconstitutionality 
in  the  administration,  and  their  best  speakers  were 
primed  for  the  occasion,  hoping  to  bring  the  matter 
to  a  vote.  The  Conservatives,  on  their  part,  had 
summoned  to  their  aid  all  the  most  tiresome  and 
long-winded  speakers  to  be  found  in  the  neighbour- 
ing counties,  to  kill  the  motion. 

115 


Il6  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

Nevertheless,  the  white  feathers  held  their  ground, 
being  determined  to  sit  the  meeting  out  if  it  lasted  all 
night,  and  well  knowing  that,  the  moment  the  chair- 
man should  note  any  preponderance  of  blacks  in  the 
hall,  he  would  put  the  question  to  vote  and  it  would 
be  lost.  Therefore  they  kept  their  places  patiently 
until  it  came  the  turn  of  their  chief  orator,  Tormándy, 
to  speak. 

When  he  rose  to  address  the  assembly,  the  black 
feathers  seemed  to  unite  in  an  effort  to  silence  him, 
disputing  his  every  statement  and  making  constant 
interruptions.  But  Tormándy  was  not  to  be  discon- 
certed. If  a  hundred  voices  shouted  in  opposition, 
his  stentorian  tones  still  made  themselves  heard  above 
the  uproar.  In  the  heat  of  debate  it  could  not  but 
occur  that  an  occasional  word  escaped  the  speaker's 
lips  that  would  have  been  called  unparliamentary  in 
any  other  deliberative  body,  and  a  repetition  of  the 
offence  would  have  necessitated  the  speaker's  taking 
his  seat.  Not  so  here,  however.  As  soon  as  Tor- 
mándy's  ardour  had  betrayed  him  into  the  utterance 
of  an  unusually  insulting  expression,  Tallérossy  and 
his  comrades  immediately  set  upon  him,  like  a  pack 
of  hounds  after  the  game,  and  called  out  in  con- 
cert :  "  Actio,  Actio  !  "  Thereupon  the  assembly, 
stantc  scssionc,  passed  judgment  on  the  case  and 
imposed  a  fine. 

Tormándy,  however,  was  not  so  easily  put  down. 


THE   FIRST  STEP.  I17 

Coolly  drawing  out  his  pocketbook,  he  threw  down 
two  hundred  florins,  —  the  usual  fine,  —  and  continued 
his  philippic.  Upon  a  second  interruption  of  the 
same  kind,  he  merely  threw  down  another  two  hun- 
dred, without  pausing  in  his  speech.  And  so  he 
continued  his  oration,  interspersed  with  occasional 
invectives,  until  he  had  emptied  his  pocketbook  and 
surrendered  his  seal  ring  and  his  insignia  of  nobility 
in  pledge  of  payments  still  lacking.  His  speech, 
however,  was  finished  ;  he  had  succeeded  in  saying 
what  he  had  to  say,  to  the  very  last  word.  But  his 
concluding  sentences  were  drowned  in  an  uproar. 
Deafening  huzzas  on  one  side,  and  shouts  of  "  Down 
with  him  !  "  on  the  other,  turned  the  meeting  into  a 
veritable  pandemonium,  each  party  trying  in  vain  to 
drown  its  opponents'  cries. 

Meanwhile  the  presiding  administrator  sat  unmoved, 
listening  to  the  uproar  as  an  orchestra  conductor 
might  listen  to  the  performance  of  his  musicians. 

The  customary  tactics  of  the  Conservatives  had 
failed.  In  the  first  place,  there  were  more  white 
feathers  than  black  in  the  hall.  Secondly,  the  former 
were  not  to  be  routed  from  their  position  either  by 
the  high  temperature  of  the  room,  —  it  would  have 
almost  hatched  ostrich  eggs,  —  or  by  the  pangs  of 
hunger,  or  by  the  long-winded  harangues  of  their 
opponents.  Thirdly,  they  refused  to  be  silenced  by 
any  fines  ;  they  paid  and  spoke  on.       Fourthly,  both 


Il8  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

parties  seemed  disinclined  to  begin  a  fight,  —  a 
diversion  which  hitherto  had  commonly  resulted  in 
the  white  feathers  abandoning  the  field  and  taking 
flight  through  doors  and  windows.  A  fifth  expedient 
still  remained,  —  the  adjournment  of  the  meeting. 

Rideghváry  rang  his  bell,  and  was  beginning  to 
explain,  in  a  low  tone,  that  the  excessive  noise  and 
confusion  made  further  debate  impossible,  when  sud- 
denly he  found  himself  speaking  amid  a  hush  so 
profound  that  one  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop. 

"  To  what  noise  and  confusion  does  the  chairman 
refer .? "  asked  Tormándy,  with  a  smile. 

Rideghváry  perceived  that  the  meeting  was  under 
other  control  than  his  own.  The  white  feathers  had 
received  orders  to  hush  every  sound  the  moment  they 
heard  the  chairman's  bell ;  their  opponents,  observing 
that  their  leader  was  trying  to  make  himself  heard, 
would,  voluntarily  become  silent.  Thus  it  was  that 
the  chairman  found  himself  completely  outwitted. 

"I  admit,  there  is  no  noise  now,"  said  he,  "but  as 
soon  as  the  debate  is  resumed,  the  uproar  will  begin 
again,  and  therefore  I  claim  the  right,  as  presiding 
officer,  to  adjourn  the  meeting." 

But  not  even  then  did  the  result  follow  which  he 
had  expected.  The  storm  did  not  break  out  again  ; 
the  emergency  had  been  foreseen,  and  all  his  strata- 
gems were  too  well  known  to  catch  his  enemies 
napping. 


THE  FIRST  STEP.  IIQ 

Tormándy  first  broke  the  silence.  "Mr.  Presi- 
dent," said  he,  rising  and  calmly  addressing  the  chair, 
"I  beg  to  propose  that,  if  the  chairman  declines  to 
preside  longer  over  this  meeting,  we  proceed  to  elect 
a  substitute,  after  which  we  will  continue  our  debate." 

A  hundred  voices  were  raised  in  approval  of  this 
suggestion,  and  as  many  against  it.  The  cries 
increased  until  confusion  and  uproar  were  again 
supreme.  Assuming  a  stern  expression  and  leaning 
forward  over  his  table,  Rideghváry  tried  to  make 
himself  heard. 

"This  is  an  open  affront,"  he  declared,  "a  violation 
of  the  law.  But  it  lies  in  my  power  to  put  an  end 
to  such  unbridled  license.  If  the  members  oppose 
the  adjournment  of  the  meeting  I  shall  call  for  their 
expulsion  by  force  of  arms." 

"  We  will  stand  our  ground,"  shouted  back  Tor- 
mándy, crossing  his  arms  and  facing  the  administrator 
defiantly. 

But  the  latter  had  resources  still  in  reserve.  Sum- 
moning the  sheriff,  he  bade  him  clear  the  hall,  where- 
upon that  officer  threw  open  the  folding  doors  behind 
the  president's  chair  and  revealed  a  body  of  men 
standing  there  with  drawn  swords,  ready  to  do  his 
bidding.  Both  the  sheriff  and  his  posse  were  creatures 
of  the  administrator.  "* 

In  the  first  moment  of  surprise  every  one  thought 
this  must  be  a  joke  of  some  sort,  so  many  years  had 


120  T//E   BARON'S  SONS. 

passed  since  swords  had  been  drawn  in  a  county 
assembly.  But  when  one  and  another  zealous  patriot 
was  seen  to  fall  wounded  beside  the  green  table,  and 
bloody  blades  were  brandished  before  their  eyes,  all 
took  fright  in  earnest.  The  next  moment,  however, 
the  scene  changed.  Some  of  the  young  Progressives 
drew  their  swords  and  ranged  themselves  against  the 
sheriff's  posse.  Such  a  clashing  of  steel  and  din  of 
battle  then  ensued  as  had  never  before  been  heard  in  a 
meeting  of  that  kind,  —  and  all  under  the  eye  of  the 
presiding  officer,  and,  apparently,  with  his  approval. 

But  what  speedily  followed  was  not  so  much  to 
his  liking.  The  valiant  young  wearers  of  the  white 
feather  soon  succeeded  in  driving  the  sheriff  and  his 
force  into  a  corner,  where  they  struck  the  swords  out 
of  their  hands,  and  sent  the  men  themselves  flying 
through  the  windows.  At  that  moment  a  newcomer 
opened  the  door  and  entered  the  hall. 

It  was  Ödön  Baradlay.  In  his  rich  mourning 
attire,  and  with  stern  displeasure  on  his  brow,  he 
looked  like  an  angry  god.  Without  uncovering,  — 
whether  from  forgetfulness  or  design,  —  he  advanced 
to  the  president's  chair,  his  face  flushed  with  wrath 
and  his  eyes  flashing  resentment.  Rideghváry  eyed 
him  askance,  like  the  jackal  that  suddenly  encounters 
a  tiger' in  the  forests  of  India. 

^I  hold  you  responsible  for  this  shameful  occur- 
rence, which  will  stand_as  a  disgrace  to  our  country 


T//E    FIRST  STEP.  121 

before  the  world,"  declared  Ödön,  sternly  confronting 


the  occupant  of  the  chair. 

"Me  responsible?"  cried  Rideghváry,  his  voice 
betraying  a  mixture  of  anger,  haughtiness,  alarm,  and 
astonishment. 

"  Yes,  you ! "  repeated  the  other,  and,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  back  of  the  president's  chair,  he  shook 
it  in  the  excess  of  his  wrath.  "  And  now  leave  this 
seat,"  he  continued.  "This  is  the  chair  that  my 
ancestors  have  occupied,  and  only  during  my  father's 
illness  were  you  authorised  to  take  his  place.  The 
lord  lieutenant  is  well  again." 

At  these  words  there  was  an  outburst  of  cheers  in 
every  part  of  the  hall,  • —  yes,  in  every  part.  Those 
familiar  with  Hungarian  political  assemblies  will  re- 
call many  a  similar  instance  where  one  fearless  stroke  -^^ 
has  gained  the  admiration  and  support  of  all  parties. 
Likes  and  dislikes,  political  prejudices  and  private 
interests,  are  all  forgotten,  and  the  whole  assembly  is 
swept  off  its  feet  as  one  man  —  whither,  no  one  asks. 

Such  a  miracle  was  wrought  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. Rideghváry  read  only  too  plainly  in  the  faces 
of  his  partisans  and  hirelings^  t]iat_Jiis_rule_was  at  an 
end.  _Here  was  no  place  for  him  now.  Pale  with 
shame  and  fury,  he  rose  from  his  chair.  With  one 
look  of  wrath  and  hatred  at  the  assembly,  he  turned 
to  Ödön  and,  with  lust  for  revenge  in  his  tones, 
muttered  between  his  teeth  : 


122  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"This  is  the  first  step  to  that  height  of  which  I 
have  warned  you." 

Ödön  measured  him  with  a  look  of  scorn.  He 
knew  well  enough  from  his  mother  what  height  was 
meant,  but  he  deigned  no  reply. 

The  door  closed  upon  the  administrator,  and  the 
young  lord  lieutenant  took  the  president's  chair  amid 
the  huzzas  of  all  present.  Then  at  length  he  re- 
moved his  fur  cap.  His  action  had  been,  it  must  be 
admitted,  unconstitutional,  since  he  had  not  yet  been 
installed  as  lord  lieutenant,  and  so  was  unqualified  to 
assume  the  duties  of  the  office.  But  the  enthusiasm 
which  greeted  his  appearance  was  warm  and  genuine, 
and  he  accepted  it  as  a  sanction  of  his  course.  His 
had  been  a  bold  stroke,  and  one  pregnant  with  results 
t  for  himself,  for  his  county,  for  his  native  land,  —  yes, 
for  his  generation.  But  it  succeeded.  His  action 
formed  a  turning-point  in  his  country's  history. 
Whither  the  course  he  had  adopted  would  lead,  he 
knew  not,  and  no  little  courage  was  called  for  in 
facing  its  possible  issue. 

What  else  occurred  in  that  assembly  is  simply  a 
matter  of  history,  but  the  glory  of  that  day  belongs 
to  Ödön  Baradlay. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SPRING    DAYS. 

It  was  the  13th  of  March,  1848,  the  day  of  the 
popular  uprising  in  Vienna. 

The  Plankenhorst  parlours  were  even  on  that  day 
filled  with  their  usual  frequenters ;  but  instead  of 
piano-playing  and  gossip,  entertainment  was  furnished 
by  the  distant  report  of  musketry  and  the  hoarse 
cries  of  the  mob.  Every  face  was  pale  and  anxious, 
and  all  present  were  eager  to  learn  the  latest  news 
from  any  newcomer. 

At  length,  toward  evening,  the  secretary  of  the 
police  department  entered.  His  mere  outward  ap- 
pearance indicated  but  too  well  that  things  were 
going  badly  for  the  government.  Instead  of  his 
official  uniform,  he  wore  a  common  workman's 
blouse,  and  his  face  was  pale  and  careworn.  As 
soon  as  he  was  recognised  in  his  disguise,  all  pressed 
around  him  for  the  latest  tidings. 

"  Well,  are  you  sweeping  the  streets  .''  "  asked  the 
high  official  of  the  commissary  department,  in  anxious 
haste. 

123 


124  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  There  is  no  making  head  against  the  rascals," 
answered  the  secretary  in  a  trembhng  voice.  "  I 
have  just  left  the  ofifice  and  only  escaped  by  means 
of  this  disguise.  The  mob  has  broken  into  the 
building,  thrown  down  the  statue  of  Justice,  and 
wrecked  the  censor's  office." 

"  But,  for  heaven's  sake,  can't  more  soldiery  be 
sent  out  against  them  .'' '" 

"  We  have  soldiers  enough,  but  the  emperor  will 
not  permit  any  more  bloodshed.  He  is  displeased 
that  any  lives  at  all  should  have  been  sacrificed." 

"  But  why  ask  his  permission  }  He  is  too  tender- 
hearted by  far.  Let  the  war  department  manage 
that." 

"Well,  you  go  and  tell  them  how  to  do  it,"  re- 
turned the  secretary  petulantly.  "  What  is  to  be 
done  when  the  soldiers  fire  in  such  a  way  that  a 
whole  platoon  volley  fails  to  hit  a  single  man  .''  In 
St.  Michael  Square  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  the 
cannoneers  stick  their  slow-matches  into  the  mud, 
and  heard  them  declare  they  wouldn't  fire  on  the 
people." 

"  Heavens  !  what  will  become  of  us  }  " 

"  I  caAe  to  give  you  warning.  For  my  part,  I 
believe  the  people  have  fixed  upon  certain  houses  as 
objects  of  their  fury,  and  I  would  not  pass  the  night 
in  one  of  them  for  all  the  Rothschild  millions." 

"  Do  you  think  my  house  is  one  of  the  number  ?  "• 


SPRING   DAYS.  1 25 

asked  Baroness  Plankenhorst.  The  only  reply  she  got 
was  a  significant  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"And  now  I  must  hasten  away,"  concluded  the 
secretary.  "  I  have  to  order  post-horses  and  relays 
for  the  chancellor." 

"  What !  has  it  come  to  that  already  .'' " 

"So  it  seems." 

"  And  do  you  go  with  him  }  " 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  not  to  remain  long  behind. 
And  you  too,  madam,  I  should  advise  at  the  earliest 
opportunity  —  " 

"I  will  consider  the  matter,"  returned  Antoinette 
composedly,  and  she  let  him  hurry  away. 

Jenő  Baradlay  never  left  his  room  all  that  day. 
The  brave  who  laugh  at  danger  little  know  the  agony 
of  fear  that  the  timid  and  nervous  must  overcome  be- 
fore resolving  to  face  peril  and  rush,  if  need  be,  into 
the  jaws  of  death.  Finally,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  his  anxiety  for  Alfonsine's  safety  impelled 
him  to  seek  her.  With  no  means  of  self-ctefence,  he 
went  out  on  the  street  and  exposed  himself  to  its  un- 
known perils.  What  he  there  encountered  was;  by 
no  means  what  he  had,  in  the  solitude  of  his  own 
room,  nerved  himself  to  face.  Instead  of  meeting 
with  a  violent  and  raging  mob,  he  found  himself  sur- 
rounded by  an  exultant  throng,  drunk  with  joy  and 
shouting    itself    hoarse    in    the    cause   of    "liberty." 


126  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Jenö's  progress  toward  his  destination  was  slow,  but 
at  last  he  managed  to  push  his  way  into  the  street 
where  the  Plankenhorst  house  was  situated.  His 
heart  beat  with  fear  lest  he  should  find  the  building 
a  mass  of  ruins.  Many  a  fine  residence  had  that  day 
fallen  a  sacrifice  to  the  fury  of  the  mob. 

Greatly  to  the  young  man's  surprise,  however, 
upon  turning  a  corner  he  beheld  the  house  bril- 
liantly illuminated  from  basement  to  attic,  two 
white  silk  banners  displayed  from  the  balcony,  and 
a  popular  orator  standing  between  them  and  deliv- 
ering a  spirited  address   to  the  crowd  below. 

Jenő  quite  lost  his  head  at  this  spectacle,  and 
became  thenceforth  the  mere  creature  of  impulse. 
Reaching  the  steps  of  the  house,  he  encountered 
nothing  but  white  cockades  and  faces  flushed  with 
triumph,  while  cheers  were  being  given  for  the  pat- 
ronesses of  the  cause  of  liberty  by  the  throng  before 
the  house.  Pushing  his  way  into  the  drawing-room, 
he  saw  two  ladies  standing  at  a  table  and  beaming 
with  happy  smiles  upon  their  visitors.  With  difficulty 
he  assured  himself  that  they  were  the  baroness  and 
her  daughter.  The  former  was  making  cockades  out 
of  white  silk  ribbon,  with  which  the  latter  decorated 
the  heroes  of  the  people,  fastening  bands  of  the  same 
material  around  their  arms.  And  meanwhile  the  faces 
of  the  two  ladies  were  wreathed  in  smiles. 

The  young  man  suffered  himself  to  be  swept  along 


■^^  SPJíING  DAYS.  127 

by  the  crowd  until  Alfonsine,  catching  sight  of  him, 
gave  a  cry  of  joy,  rushed  forward,  threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  kissed  him,  and  sank  on  his  breast, 
exclaiming : 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  what  a  joyful  occasion  !  "  and  she 
kissed  him  again,  before  all  the  people  and  before  her 
mother.  The  latter  smiled  her  approval,  while  the 
people  applauded  and  cheered.  They  found  it  all  en- 
tirely natural.  Their  shouts  jarred  on  Jeno's  nerves, 
but  the  kisses  thrilled  him  with  new  life. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Jeno  Baradlay  foii^id  it 
quite  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  be  at  the 
Plankenhorsts'  at  all  hours,  uninvited  and  unan- 
nounced, amid  a  throng  of  students,  democrats, 
popular  orators,  all  wearing  muddy  boots,  long 
swords,  and  pendent  feathers  in  their  caps.  He 
also  found  nothing  strange  in  the  fact  that  Alfon- 
sine frequently  received  him  in  her  morning  wrapper 
and  with  her  hair  uncurled,  that  she  embraced  him 
warmly  on  each  occasion,  and  that  she  took  no  pains 
to  conceal  her  endearments  either  from  strangers  or 
from  friends.  It  was  a  time  when  everything  was 
permitted. 

As  the  two  turned  aside  one  evening  in  their  walk, 
to  join  a  throng  of  eager  listeners  who  were  being 
addressed  by  one  impassioned  speaker  after  another, 
Jeno  was  startled  at  seeing  his  brother  Ödön  mount 
the  platform  as  one  of  the  orators  of   the  occasion. 


Oik:  g  r^^" 


128  T//E   B  A  RON'S  SONS. 

He,  too,  it  appeared,  was  on  the  side  of  the  people ; 
he  was  one  of  the  parhamentary  speakers  who  were 
making  their  voices  heard  jn  favoiir-űi-popular  rights 
and  legislative  reforrru  His  speech  swept  all  before' 
it ;  no  one  could  listen  to  his  words  without  feeling 
his  heart  stirred  and  his  pulse  quickened.  Alfonsine 
waved  her  handkerchief  in  her  enthusiasm,  but  her 
-companion  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  mysterious 
fear  and  dread.  What  premonition  was  it  that 
seemed  to  whisper  in  his  ear  the  true  significance  of 
thaV  elevated  platform  on  which  his  brother  stood .'' 

When  the  two  had  returned  from  their  stroll, 
weary  with  walking  the  streets,  and  Jenő  had  been 
dismissed  with  a  good-night  kiss,  Alfonsine,  at  last 
alone  with  her  mother,  threw  her  hat  with  its  tricol- 
oured  ribbons  into  a  corner  and  sank  exhausted  upon 
a  sofa. 

"  Oh,  "  she  cried,  "  how  tired  I  am  of  this  horrid 
world ! " 


-**• 


■^ 


KJ 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  REVERSE    OF    THE    MEDAL. 

After  a  troubled  night's  rest  Jenő  rose  and,  telling 
his  ser\'ant  that  he  should  not  return  until  late  in  the 
evening,  betook  himself  to  the  Plankenhorst  resi- 
dence, thinking  thus  to  avoid  all  possibility  of  meeting 
his  brother  Ödön,  who,  he  feared,  might  try  to  per- 
suade him  to  return  home  to  their  mother. 

"Welcome,  comrade!  "  cried  Fritz  Goldnei^_chair- 
man  of  the  standing  committee,  as  Jenő  entered  the 
drawing-room;  "we  were  just  speaking  of  you.  Do 
you  know  that  our  cause  is  in  great  danger  ? " 

Jenő  had  known  that  from  the  beginning. 

"We  must  step  into  the  breach,"  continued  the 
chairman.  "  The  reactionary  party  is  bent  on  com- 
promising us  and  bringing  disgrace  on  our  patriotism 
by  stirring  up  the  dregs  of  the  people  to  the  most  out- 
rageous excesses.  The  false  friends  of  liberty  are 
inciting  the  mob  to  acts  of  violence  and  riot  against 
the  manufacturing  and  property- holding  classes. 
Last  night  the  custom-house  was  burnt  and  property 
destroyed  in  the  outlying  villages.     To-day  the  rioters 

129 


^\ű^' 


130  n/H   BARON'S  SONS. 

are  expected  to  attack  the  factories  and  the  religious 
houses  within  the  city  limits,  and  our  duty  will  be  to 
confront  them  and  turn  their  misguided  zeal  into 
proper  channels.  We  have  not  a  moment  to  lose,  but 
must  hasten  to  meet  this  movement  and  rescue  our 
flag  from  the  dishonour  with  which  our  false  friends 
are  striving  to  stain  it.  Let  us  oppose  our  breasts  to 
the  flood  and  dam  its  course  with  our  bodies." 

Poor  Jenő  !  To  offer  his  ownperson  as  a  check  to 
the  fŰTy~őf"the  mob,  and  to  stand  as  a  target  between 
two  fires  —  that  of  the  rioters  on  one  side,  and  of  the 
soldiery  on  the  other  —  was  hardly  to  his  liking.  But 
he  made  haste  to  assure  his  friend  Fritz  of  his  hearty 
acquiescence  in  the  plan  proposed,  and  bade  him  go 
on  ahead ;  he  himself  would  run  home  and  get  his 
sword  and  pistols  and  then  follow  in  a  cab.  Before 
Alfonsine  he  could  not  betray  how  little  stomach  he 
had  for  the  undertaking. 

Gaining  the  street,  he  hailed  the  first  empty  cab  he 
saw,  and  hired  it  for  the  day,  directing  the  coachman 
to  drive  around  whithersoever  he  chose,  without  halt- 
ing, except  at  noon  at  some  outlying  inn,  and  late  in 
the  evening  at  his  lodging. 

His  friends  and  co-workers  in  the  cause  of  freedom 
did  not  wait  for  him,  but  marshalled  their  forces  and 
pushed  forward  to  check  the  fury  of  mob  violence 
that  was  now  gaining  fearful  headway. 

The  Granichstadt  distillery  was  a  mass  of  smoking 


THE   REVERSE   OF  THE   MEDAL.  13I 

ruins.  The  machinery  had  been  wrecked,  the  brandy 
casks  rolled  into  the  street  and  their  heads  knocked 
in,  whereupon  their  contents  had  rushed  out  over  the 
pavement  in  a  stream  that  soon  caught  fire.  This 
blazing  Phlegethon,  pouring  through  the  streets,  had 
been  the  salvation  of  the  St.  Bridget  Convent  ;  for 
as  long  as  the  fiery  stream  barred  the  way  in  that 
direction,  the  mob  could  not  offer  the  nunnery  any 
violence.  Yet  the  rioters  were  taking  measures  to 
overcome  this  obstacle,  and  were  bringing  sand,  mud, 
ashes,  —  anything  that  would  serve  to  make  a  road 
through  the  burning  flood.  i^_the_entrance  to  the 
convent,  however,  a  squadron  of  hussars  had  been 
posted  early  in  the  morning ;  its  commander  was 
Captain  Richard  Baradla}'. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  since  he  had  changed  his 
quarters  and  moved  out  of  the  city  into  the  barracks 
in  the  suburbs.  His  purpose  in  making  the  change 
had  been  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  the  duties  of 
his  calling.  He  was  no  longer  seen  idling  in  the 
town,  he  attended  no  balls,  paid  court  to  no  ladies, 
but  lived  wholly  with  his  men,  contenting  himself 
with  their  society,  and  became  one  of  the  most  indus- 
trious of  officers.  He  had  learned  from  Jenő  that 
Edith  was  at  a  boarding-school,  to  which  her  aunt 
had  sent  her  the  day  after  he^.had_asked  her  hand  in 
marriage ;  and  with  this  information  he  was  content. 
The  young  girl  was^douEtless  well  cared  for,  and  at 


132  TJIE  BARON'S  SONS. 

the  proper  time  he  would  go  and  take  her  away.  So 
why  disturb  her  meanwhile  ? 

In  the  last  few  days  Captain  Baradlay  had  received 
six  successive  and  mutually  contradictory  orders,  all 
relating  to  the  maintenance  of  order,  and  each  signed 
by  a  different  hand  and  valid  only  until  its  writer's 
deposition  from  office.  Finally,  the  young  com- 
mander found  himself  left  entirely  to  his  own  dis- 
cretion. He  was  all  night  in  the  saddle,  leading  his 
troop  hither  and  thither,  but  utterly  unable  to  subdue 
a  mob  that  broke  out  in  one  quarter  after  another  and 
always  melted  away  at  his  approach,  to  muster  again 
immediately  afterward  in  another  part  of  the  town. 

At  length  the  light  of  the  burning  distillery  had 
led  him  in  that  direction.  After  drawing  up  his  men 
across  the  street  and  before  the  entrance  to  the  con- 
vent, he  was  calmly  watching  the  mob's  advance, 
when  suddenly  a  strangely  clad  figure  approached 
him.  A  black  coat  faced  with  red,  black,  and  gilt, 
a  saáh  of  the  same  colours,  a  straight  sword  with  an 
iron  hilt,  a  broad-brimmed  hat  adorned  with  a  black 
ostrich  feather, — these  were  the  accoutrements  of 
the  stranger,  who  wore  a  thin  beard  and  mustache, 
and  was  of  a  bold  and  spirited  bearing,  though  evi- 
dently not  of  military  training.  Hastening  up  to 
Richard,  the  newcomer  greeted  him  heartily. 

"  Good  day,  comrade  !  "  he  cried.  "  Hurrah  for 
the  constitution  and  public  order !  " 


*í^^3ír^ 


THE    REVERSE    OF    THE   MEDAL.  1 33 

Richard  offered  no  objection  to  this  sentiment,  and 
the  young  gallant  next  extended  his  hand,  which  the 
hussar  officer  did  not  refuse. 

"  I  am  Fritz  Goldner,"  he  explained,  without  further 
ceremony,  "  an  officer  in  the  second  battalion  of  the 
Aula." 

"  What  news  do  you  bring  .-*  " 

"  I  heard  that  a  mob  was  collected  here  and  was 
likely  to  bring  dishonour  on  our  cause,  and  so  I  came 
to  quiet  the  storm." 

The  other  surveyed  him  doubtfully.  "What,  you 
alone  } "  he  asked.  "  Heavens  and  earth,  man  !  I 
have  been  doing  my  best  for  three  days,  at  the  head 
of  my  squadron,  to  put  down  the  mob,  and  it  is 
growing  stronger  every  minute." 

The  young  hero  of  the  Aula  threw  up  his  head 
proudly.  "Yes,  I  alone  will  quell  the  disturbance," 
he  declared. 

"  I  leave  you  a  free  hand,  comrade,"  returned 
Richard ;  "  but  I  cannot  abandon  my  position,  as  it 
would  be  no  easy  matter  recovering  it  again." 

"Very  well,  then,"  assented  the  other;  "you  stay 
here  as  a  passive  onlooker.  But  first  may  I  ask  your 
name .-' " 

"  Richard  Baradlay." 

"Ah,  glad  to  meet  you.  Your  brother  and  I  are 
good  friends." 

"  My  brother  Jenő  ?  " 


134  ^-^-^   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Yes,  he  is  attached  to  our  headquarters  at  the 
Plankenhorsts'." 

"  Headquarters  at  the  Plankenhorsts'  ? "  repeated 
Richard,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Didn't  you  know  about  it }  Both 
of  the  ladies  are  most  zealous  friends  of  the  cause, 
and  they  give  us  the  happiest  advice  and  suggestions." 

By  this  time  Richard  had  dismounted  and  thrown 
his  horse's  bridle  to  old  Paul.  "  So  the  Plankenhorst 
ladies  are  still  in  the  city,  are  they  .'* "  he  asked,  as 
he  proceeded  with  Fritz  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
convent.  "And  you  say  they  are  friends  of  the 
revolutionists.      Do  you  know  these  women  ?  " 

"  It  is  one  of  our  chief  concerns  to  know  them," 
was  the  reply.  "  Their  past  is  not  unknown  to  us, 
but  now  they  declare  themselves  unconditionally  on 
our  side.  Nothing  catches  fire  like  a  woman's  heart 
at  the  cry  of  freedom.  But  our  confidence  in  them  is 
a  guarded  one.  We,  too,  have  our  secret  police,  and 
all  their  movements  are  carefully  watched.  Should 
they  attempt  to  oppn  communication  with  their 
former  friends,  we  should  learn  the  fact  at  once 
and  the  two  ladies  would  be  summarily  dealt  with. 
Oh,  I  assure  you,  our  forces  are  well  organised." 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it.  And  is  my  brother  Jenő 
one  of  your  number.''" 

"  One  of  the  foremost.  He  holds  the  rank  of 
second  lieutenant." 


THE   REVERSE    OF   THE  MEDAL.  1 35 

Richard  shook  his  head  incredulously. 

The  mob  was  meanwhile  gradually  making  a  path 
for  itself  through  the  flames  of  burning  brandy,  and 
as  the  intrepid  Fritz  caught  sight  of  one  form  after 
another  through  the  blue-green  fire,  he  became  more 
and  more  aware  of  the  magnitude  of  the  task  before 
him.  Distinguished  from  the  rabble  about  him  was 
one  man,  no  less  ragged  and  dirty  than  his  fellows, 
but  of  colossal  size  and  brandishing  above  his  head  a 
six-foot  iron  bar  as  if  it  had  been  a  wooden  wand. 
He  was  pushing  his  way  forward  in  a  sort  of  blind 
frenzy.  Seeing  the  hussars,  however,  drawn  up  in 
formidable  array,  he  paused  for  his  comrades  to  join 
him,  when  he  raised  aloft  his  powerful  weapon  and, 
pointing  to  the  building  before  them,  shouted,  in  a 
hoarse,  brutal  voice  :  "  Into  the  fire  with  the  nuns  !  " 
A  bloodthirsty  howl  answered  him  from  behind. 

But  suddenly  the  shrill  notes  of  a  bugle  were  heard 
above  the  howling  of  the  mob.  It  was  a  signal  to  the 
horsemen  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  for  action, 
and  it  dampened  the  ardour  of  the  rioters. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,"  exclaimed  Fritz,  "  don't  give 
the  order  to  attack.  We  must  avoid  bloodshed.  I 
will  try  to  make  these  fellows  listen  to  me." 

"  Speak,  then,  in  God's  name  !  I  will  stay  at  your 
side,"  said  Richard,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  waited 
for  his  companion  to  try  the  effect  of  his  eloquence 
on  the  unruly  mob  before  them. 


136  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

The  convent  steps  served  Fritz  as  a  platform. 
Addressing  his  hearers  as  "brothers,"  he  spoke  to 
th-em  about  freedom  and  the  constitution  and  civic 
duties,  about  the  schemes  of  the  reactionaries,  about 
their  common  fatherland  and  emperor  and  the  glo- 
rious days  they  had  just  witnessed.  Now  and  then 
a  hoarse  outcry  from  his  auditors  forced  him  to 
pause,  and  more  than  once  his  remarks  were  punc- 
tuated by  a  flying  potato  or  bit  of  tile  hurled  at 
his  head.  Richard,  too,  was  hit  twice  by  these 
missiles. 

"  Comrade,"  cried  the  hussar  officer,  "  I  have  had 
quite  enough  of  these  potatoes.  Wind  up  your 
speech  as  soon  as  you  can  and  let  me  try  my  hand. 
I  shall  find  a  way  to  make  them  listen,  I  promise 
you !  " 

"It  is  a  difficult  situation,"  returned  Fritz,  wiping 
his  brow.  "  The  people  have  no  love  for  the  relig- 
ious houses  ;  but  these  nuns  are  women,  and  toward 
women  even  the  revolutionist  is  chivalrous." 

"So  I  see,"  rejoined  the  other  dryly,  glancing  up 
at  the  windows  of  the  building,  many  of  which  had 
been  shattered  by  missiles.  Fortunately  for  the 
inmates,  the  cells  were  protected  by  inner  shutters, 
which  were  all  securely  closed. 

The  rioters  now  began  to  pelt  the  hussars,  whose 
horses  were  becoming  more  and  more  restless.  As 
Fritz  opened  his  mouth  to  continue  his  speech,  the 


THE  REVERSE    OF  THE   MEDAL.  l^y 

man  with  the  iron  bar  began  to  harangue  also,  and 
the  people  could  understand  neither  of  them. 

At  that  moment  there  appeared  from  the  opposite 
direction  an  odd-looking,  long-legged  student,  with 
three  enormous  ostrich  plumes  waving  in  his  hat  and 
a  prominent  red  nose  dominating  his  thin,  smooth- 
shaven  face.  A  tricoloured  sash  crossed  his  breast, 
while  a  slender  parade-sword,  girt  high  up  under  his 
arm  to  prevent  his  stumbling  over  it,  hung  at  his 
side.  With  a  quick  step  and  a  light  spring,  the 
young  man  was  presently  at  the  side  of  Richard  and 
Fritz. 

"  God  keep  you,  comrades  !  "  he  cried  in  greeting. 
"  Calm  your  fears,  for  here  I  am,  —  Hugo  Maus- 
mann,  first  lieutenantjn_the_second  legion.  You  are 
hard  pressed  just  now,  I  can  well  believe.  Friend 
Fritz  is  a  famous  orator,  but  only  in  the  tragic  vein. 
Tragedy  is  his  forte.  But  a  public  speaker  must 
know  his  audience.  Here  a  Hans  Sachs  is  called 
for  rather  than  a  Schiller.  Only  make  your  hearers 
laugh,  and  you  have  carried  your  point.  Just  let  me 
give  these  folks  a  few  of  my  rhymes,  and  you  shall  see 
them  open  their  eyes,  and  then  their  mouths,  and  all 
burst  out  laughing ;  after  that  you  can  do  what  you 
will  \vith  them." 

"All  right,  comrade,"  returned  Richard  ;  "go  ahead 
and  make  them  laugh,  or  I  shall  have  to  try  my  hand 
at  making  them  cry." 


138  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

Hugo  Mausmann  stepped  forward  and  made  a 
comical  gesture,  indicating  his  desire  to  be  heard, 
öisUberately  drawing  out  his  snuff-box,  he  tapped  it 
•with  his  finger,  and  proceeded  to  take  a  pinch,  an 
action  which  struck  the  spectators  as  so  novel,  under 
the  circumstances,  that  they  became  silent  to  a  man 
and  thus  permitted  the  speaker  to  begin  his  inex- 
haustible flow  of  doggerel.  With  frequent  use  of  such 
rhyming  catchwords  as,  "in  freedom's  cause  I  beg 
you  pause;  "  "your  country's  fame,  your  own  good 
name;"  "our  banner  bright,  our  heart's  delight;" 
"we're  brothers  all,  to  stand  or  fall,"  —  he  poured  out 
his  jingling  verse,  concluding  in  a  highly  dramatic 
manner  by  embracing  the  hussar  officer  at  his  side, 
in  sign  of  the  good-fellowship  which  he  described  as 
uniting  all  classes  in  the  brotherhood  of  freedom. 

"  Comrade,  you  haven't  made  them  laugh  yet," 
said  Richard. 

Hugo  continued  his  rhymed  address,  but  the  people 
would  listen  no  longer.  "  Down  with  the  friend  of 
the  priests!  "  sounded  from  all  sides.  "Into  the  fire 
with  the  nuns !  "  And  the  shower  of  missiles  came 
thick  and  fast.  An  Q.g^  hit  the  speaker  on  the  nose, 
and  filled  his  mouth  and  eyes  with  its  contents. 

"Give  us  a  rhyme  for  that,  brother!  "  shouted  the 
successful  marksman,  and  all  laughed  now  in  good 
earnest ;  but  it  was  the  brutal  laugh  of  malice  and 
ridicule  at  another's  discomfiture. 


THE   REVERSE    OF  THE   MEDAL.  1 39 

Richard  threw  his  cigar  away  and  sprang  down  the 
steps.  Fritz  intercepted  him,  and  insisted  on  being 
heard. 

"Brother,"  he  cried,  "do  nothing  rash.  Avoid 
the  shedding  of  blood  —  not  that  I  fear  bloodshed  in 
itself,  but  the  hatred  that  is  sure  to  grow  out  of  it. 
We  must  not  hate  one  another.  Your  sword  must 
not  drink  our  people's  blood.  A  peaceful  issue  is  still 
possible." 

"What,  then,  do  you  advise.-'" 

"Go  and  speak  to  the  prioress,  and  persuade  her 
to  leave  the  building  with  all  her  nuns  ;  they  have  no 
costly  possessions  to  carry  with  them,  and  you  can 
soon  clear  the  house.  Then  we  will  admit  the  leaders 
of  the  mob  and  show  them  that  there  is  no  booty  to 
be  had,  and  no  nuns  there  to  burn.  We  wall  write 
on  the  outer  doors:  'This  is  state  property,'  —  as  it 
really  is, — and  no  further  injury  will  be  done  to  the 
building.  Mausmann  and  I  will  keep  back  the  mob 
while  you  do  your  errand.  By  that  time  the  rest  of 
our  party  will  be  here,  and  we  will  go  among  the 
people  and  make  them  listen  to  reason,  and  cease 
from  violence." 

Richard  pressed  the  other's  hand.  "You  are  a 
brave  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  I  will  do  as  you 
say.  Only  keep  the  '  brothers '  amused  while  I  go 
and  talk  with  the  *  sisters.'  " 

With  an  added  respect  for  these  two  young  men 


I40  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

who  were  bravely  trying  to  gain  their  ends  by  peace- 
ful means,  Richard  returned  to  the  entrance  of  the 
convent,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  The  cautious  door- 
keeper was  at  length  persuaded  to  open  to  him.  The 
captain  of  hussars  felt  somewhat  ill  at  ease  in  playing 
any  other  role  before  the  helpless  nuns  than  that  of 
their  defender  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry  ;  he  consoled 
himself,  however,  with  the  thought  that  a  nun  was 
after  all  not  the  same  as  other  women,  but  a  sort  of 
sexless  creature  who  was  not  to  be  treated  according 
to  the  conventional  rules  of  society. 

He  found  the  passages  all  deserted,  the  nuns  being 
assembled  in  the  refectory.  Pausing  on  the  threshold 
of  this  room,  the  young  officer  beheld  a  scene  that 
could  not  fail  to  move  him  deeply.  In  the  middle  of 
the  room  lay  a  dying  sister,  while  about  her  were 
grouped  her  companions,  ministering  to  her  wants 
and  seeking  to  comfort  her.  In  the  group  one  face 
caught  his  eye  and  held  him  spellbound. 

It  was  Edith.  This,  then,  was  where  her  aunt  had 
placed  her  to  await  her  marriage.  She  stretched  out 
her  hands  to  her  lover  in  despairing  appeal,  as  the 
bloodthirsty  howls  of  the  infuriated  mob  fell  on  her 
ears.  With  wrath  in  his  bosom  the  young  man  ran 
down  the  stairs,  and  out  of  the  door.  As  he  sprang 
into  his  saddle  he  thought  he  saw  a  shutter  of  one  of 
the  upper  windows  pushed  partly  open.  Perhaps 
Edith  was  looking  out,  and  watching  him. 


py' 


TI/E   REVERSE    OF   THE   MEDAL.  I4I 


"Well,  if  she  is  looking,  she  shall  see  that  her 
lover  is  a  man,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"Clear  out  of  here,  you  dirty  rascals!"  were  his 
words  to  the  mob.  Insolent  laughter  and  mocking 
shouts  were  the  answer  he  received. 

The  officer's  sword  flashed  over  his  head,  the  bugle 
gave  the  signal  to  charge,  and  Richard  dashed  for- 
ward into  the  very  heart  of  the  raging  mob,  straight 
toward  the  giant  form  of  its  leader.  The  latter 
brandished  his  iron  weapon  and  made  it  whistle 
through  the  air.  At  that  moment  Richard  seemed 
to  hear  a  scream  from  the  window  above ;  then  the 
six-foot  iron  bar  came  down  toward  his  head  with  a 
hiss  as  it  cleft  the  air. 

All  honour  to  the  Al-Bohacen  sword  that  was 
raised  to  meet  the  blow  ;  and  all  honour  to  the  arm 
and  hand  that  received  the  brunt  of  its  force  on 
the  sword-hilt.  There  was  a  clash  and  a  shower  of 
sparks,  but  the  Damascus  blade  stood  the  test  and 
suffered  not  a  nick  or  a  scratch.  Before  the  giant 
could  lift  his  weapon  again  he  found  himself  lying 
under  the  horse's  hoofs.  Five  minutes  later  the 
square  was  empty. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

TRUE    LOVE. 

Through  the  unlighted  streets  of  Vienna  a  car- 
riage was  slowly  making  its  uncertain  way  by  night. 
The  gas-mains  had  been  wrecked,  —  that  was  one  of 
the  results  of  the  glorious  days  of  "liberty," — and 
only  the  feeble  coach-lamps  lighted  a  path  for  the 
equipage. 

The  carriage  halted  before  the  Plankenhorst  house, 
and  the  coachman  stepped  down  and  held  the  door 
open  while  two  women  alighted,  after  which  he  drove 
into  the  courtyard,  leaving  his  passengers  to  make 
the  best  of  their  way  up  the  unlighted  stairs.  The 
hostess,  coming  to  meet  them  with  a  lamp  in  her 
hand,  kissed  one  of  her  callers,  who  was  evidently  a 
nun,  and  gave  her  hand  to  the  other.  The  latter's 
hood  falling  back  revealed  Edith's  bright  face. 

"  Heaven  must  have  guided  you  hither,  Sister 
Remigia ! "  exclaimed  the  baroness,  in  a  guarded 
tone. 

"We  had  need  enough  of  Heaven's  guidance  in  this 
fearful  darkness,"  was  the  reply.    "Not  a  street  lamp 

142 


TRUE  LOVE.  Í43 

is  lighted  in  the  whole  city,  and  the  pavement  is  torn 
up  in  many  places."  - 

"  Heaven  watches  over  its  chosen  ones,"  said 
Antoinette,  leading  her  guests  into  the  dining-room, 
where  the  table  was  spread  in  readiness  for  them, 
while  the  water  was  already  boiling  in  the  tea-kettle. 

First  assuring  herself  that  no  one  was  in  the  next 
room,  the  hostess  locked  the  door,  bade  her  daughter 
serve  the  tea,  and  then  drew  her  chair  to  Sister 
Remigia's  side.  "What  word  does  the  general 
send  .''  "  she  asked. 

"To-morrow  is  fixed  upon  for  a  general  attack," 
replied  the  sister,  in  an  anxious  tone. 

"  Did  you  know  that  things  were  going  badly  .-*  " 
asked  Antoinette, 

"  How  so  .''  " 

"The  insurgents  are  counting  on  a  secret  under- 
standing with  a  part  of  the  investing  forces.  Gold- 
ner  told  me  the  whole  plan.  Of  course  I  pretended 
to  be  very  much  alarmed  as  to  what  would  become  of 
us  who  have  played  so  important  a  part  in  the  upris- 
ing, if  the  city  should  be  taken.  But  the  good  young 
man  bade  me  have  no  fear :  in  case  of  any  mishap,  a 
plan  of  escape  was  arranged  for  those  whose  lives 
would  be  endangered  by  remaining.  He  said  that 
between  the  Mariahilf  and  Lerchenfeld  cemeteries 
the  line  of  investment  was  held  by  a  squadron  of 
hussars  with  whom  the  Aula  had  for  some  time  been 


144  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

fraternising,  and  that  it  was  hoped  this  squadron 
would  not  only  offer  a  free  escape  to  fugitives  in  case 
of  danger,  but  would  also  join  in  their  flight  and 
cover  their  rear,  thus  securing  them  a  safe  retreat 
into  Galicia  or  Hungary.  The  only  thing  in  the  way 
of  this  plan,  it  appears,  is  the  obstinacy  of  the 
squadron's  commander.  Captain  Richard  Baradlay." 

"  The  same  who  drove  the  rioters  away  from  the 
convent  ? " 

"Yes." 

"So  far  as  I  have  learned,"  said  Sister  Remigia, 
"  he  has  not  since  then  associated  with  the  members 
of  the  Aula  and  the  popular  leaders." 

"No,"  rejoined  the  baroness,  "he  has  held  himself 
aloof  from  them  and  refused  to  be  drawn  into  their 
scheme.  His  men  would  have  yielded,  but  they  stand 
by  their  commander  :  if  he  bade  them  fight  against 
their  own  kith  and  kin,  they  would  obey  him.  Lately, 
however,  the  rebels  have  gained  a  new  and  unhoped- 
for ally." 

"  In  whom  }  " 

"  In  a  woman,  and  a  very  dangerous  one,  too.  She 
does  not  shrink  from  the  boldest  and  most  perilous 
undertakings.      She  is  the  young  Baradlays'  mother." 

"  But  how,  pray,  could  she  have  made  her  way 
through  the  investing  lines .-' "  asked  the  sister,  in 
astonishment. 

"  By  a  daring  stroke  that  seems   hardly  credible. 


TRUE  LOVE.  145 

Fritz  told  me  all  about  it.  This  delicate  widow  of  the 
late  Baron  Baradlay  procured  from  an  old  market- 
woman  in  Schwechat,  the  costume  and  basket  of  a 
vegetable-vender,  and  then  proceeded  with  this  woman, 
on  foot,  her  basket  of  onions  and  potatoes  on  her 
back,  through  the  lines  of  the  investing  army,  selling 
her  wares  on  the  way,  until  she  reached  the  city. 
She  is  now  here  in  Vienna,  at  number  17  Singer 
Street,  in  the  shop  of  her  attendant  market-woman." 
"And  what  is  her  object  in  all  this  } " 
"  To  take  her  sons  home  with  her.  She  wishes  to 
persuade  them^to  return  to  Hungary  and  enter  the 
government_service  there. " 

"  Has  she  spoken  with  them  yet  } "  asked  the  nun, 
"  Not  yet,  fortunately.  She  only  arrived  this  after- 
noon. Goldner  has  spoken  with  her,  and  she  is  to 
have  an  interview  with  her  son  Richard,  the  cavalry 
officer,  to-morrow  morning.  She  is  allowed  to  go  to 
him  unmolested,  and  as  surely  as  she  speaks  with 
him,  he  will  yield  to  her.  The  general  will  then  be 
informed  of  the  affair  through  his  secret  agents,  and 
before  the  hussars  can  carry  out  their  plan,  the  whole 
squadron  is  to  be  surrounded.  Who  is  the  command- 
ing  officer  in  your  section  now  }  " 

"The  cuirassier  major,  Otto  Palvicz." 
"Ah,  he  is  the  right  man  for  the  business.     The 
hussars   will   be   decimated,    and    Captain    Baradlay 
shot." 


146  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

To  all  this  Edith  was  forced  to  listen,  but  she  suf- 
fered no  look  of  hers  to  betray  how  keenly  it  affected 
her.  On  hearing  her  lover's  probable  fate,  she  nearly 
choked  over  a  piece  of  ham,  and  had  to  resort  to  a  dose 
of  vinegar  to  conquer  a  sudden  faintness. 

Alfonsine  could  not  refrain  from  venting  her  spite 
on  her  cousin.  "Your  appetite,"  said  she,  "does  not 
seem  to  suffer  greatly  at  the  prospect  of  losing  your 
lover." 

Edith  helped  herself  composedly  to  another  slice 
of  ham.  "  Better  to  be  executed  than  buried  alive," 
she  rejoined.  Holding  out  her  glass,  she  begged  her 
cousin  to  pour  her  some  chartreuse.  "  I  must  get 
used  to  it  if  I  am  to  be  a  nun,"  she  remarked  play- 
fully. 

Alfonsine  handed  her  the  bottle  and  bade  her  help 
herself,  and  Edith's  hand  never  once  trembled  as  she 
filled  her  cognac  glass  to  the  brim  with  the  green 
liquor ;  then  she  poured  out  a  glassful  for  Sister 
Remigia. 

"  Drink  with  me,  Sister  Remigia,"  she  cried,  with 
a  roguish  smile  ;  "  v/e  must  take  something  to  keep 
up  our  spirits." 

The  nun  made  a  show  of  reluctance,  but  was  finally 
obliged  to  yield  to  the  seductions  of  her  favourite 
beverage.  Meanwhile  the  hostess  proceeded  with 
her  instructions. 

"  Don't  forget  the  address,"  said  she,  —  "  number 


TRUE  LOVE.  ló.'j 

17  Singer  Street,  the  vegetable  shop  in  the  basement. 
The  mother  will  be  sure  to  return  for  her  youngest 
son,  and  we  must  not  let  her  escape  us.  Give  the 
general  full  information  of  these  details  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  take  care  that  Captain  Baradlay  doesn't  get 
wind  of  the  affair.  That  man  must  die,  and  we  must 
leave  him  no  loophole  for  slipping  out  of  our 
hands." 

An  incomprehensible  child,  that  Edith  !  Even  now 
she  asks  nonchalantly  for  a  piece  of  froniage  de  Brie, 
sips  her  chartreuse  like  an  epicure,  and  refills  her 
companion's  glass  as  often  as  it  is  emptied.  A  well- 
spread  table  in  this  world,  her  soul's  salvation  in 
the  next,  and  meanwhile  the  quiet  life  of  a  cloister, 
seemed  to  satisfy  her  every  desire.  Soon  she  was 
nodding  as  if  overcome  with  sleepiness,  and  finally 
she  leaned  back  on  the  sofa,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to 
be  closed ;  but  through  her  long  lashes  she  was 
watching  intently  the  three  women  before  her.  They 
thought  her  asleep. 

"Is  she  always  like  this?"  asked  the  Baroness 
Plankenhorst. 

"  She  is  incorrigibly  lazy,"  replied  Sister  Remigia. 
"  No  work,  no  books  seem  to  interest  her.  Eating 
and  sleeping  are  her  sole  delight." 

"Well,  we  must  make  the  best  of  the  matter," 
returned  Antoinette.  "I  hope  she  will  enjoy  her 
convent   life.     An   allowance  will  be  made  for  her 


148  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

support  as  long  as  she  lives  ;  that  has  been  provided 
for." 

"Are  you,  then,  sure  that  she  has  lost  her  lover  ? " 
"  Quite.  If  he  once  has  an  interview  with  his 
mother,  he  will  be  persuaded  to  desert.  Her  eldest 
son  she  has  already  drawn  into  the  net  :  he  is  now 
a  recruiting  officer  in  the  Hungarian  service,  and  is 
busy  raising  troops.  But  if  Richard  fails  to  meet 
his  mother,  and  still  refuses  to  join  the  insurgents, 
,  a  ball  will  be  sent  through  his  head  at  the  critical, 
moment  —  so  Fritz  assures  me.  Two  of  his  own 
men  have  vowed  to  shoot  him  if  he  opposes  their 
wishes.  So  he  has  but  a  short  shrift  in  any  case. 
By  to-morrow  evening  he  will  be  either  a  dead  man, 

(assassinated  by  one  of  his  troopers,  or,  if  he  attempts 
to  desert,  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  Major  Palvicz  ; 
and,  in  the  latter  case,  he  will  be  shot  day  after  to- 
morrow. It  is  all  one  to  me  how  it  turns  out.  I 
don't  wish  him  the  ignominy  of  a  public  execution, 
although  he  has  given  me  reason  enough  to  hate 
him." 

When  Sister  Remigia  at  length  aroused  Edith  and 
led  her,  apparently  half  asleep,  down  to  the  carriage, 
Antoinette  accompanied  them  with  a  light,  explaining 
as  she  went  that  all  the  men-servants  had  been  called 
away  to  the  barricades.  Her  real  purpose  was  to  see 
Edith  safely  seated  in  the  coach,  and  sound  asleep 
by  the  nun's  side.      She  had  oi;ly  the  vaguest  suspi- 


TRUE  LOVE.  149 

cions  regarding  her  niece,  but  it  was  best  to  take  no 
chances. 

The  heavy  coach  rumbled  slowly  through  the  dark 
streets.  Perhaps  the  driver  himself  was  half  asleep. 
When  they  were  well  on  their  way,  Edith  opened  her 
eyes  and  peered  cautiously  about.  Her  sole  thought 
was  to  make  her  escape,  even  if  a  thousand  devils 
stood  guard  at  the  carriage  door,  and  the  ghosts  of 
all  who  had  fallen  in  the  last  few  days  haunted  the 
unlighted  streets  of  the  city.  Sister  Remigia  was 
already  fast  asleep  ;  it  was  her  eyes,  not  Edith's,  that 
refused  to  hold  themselves  open  after  the  even- 
ing's ample  repast.  The  chartreuse  had  done  its 
work. 

Assuring  herself  of  her  companion's  condition, 
Edith  softly  opened  the  door  at  her  side  and  sprang 
lightly  to  the  ground,  unperceived  by  the  deaf  and 
sleepy  coachman.  Swiftly,  and  with  wildly  beating 
heart,  she  ran  back  toward  the  heart  of  the  city, 
leaving  the  coach  to  lumber  on  its  way  without  her. 
It  was  only  with  difficulty  that  she  could  find  her 
way  in  the  dark.  The  tall  tower  of  St.  Stephen's 
loomed  up  ahead  of  her,  and  thither  she  turned  her 
steps,  hoping  to  find  some  one  in  that  neighbourhood 
to  direct  her  farther.  With  limbs  trembling,  and 
heart  anxiously  throbbing,  now  that  she  was  safe 
from  observation,  the  poor  girl  hastened  on  as  best 
she  could.     Twice  as  she  ran  she  heard   the  great 


I5Ó  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

tower-clock  strike  the  quarter-hour,  and  she  knew 
she  must  have  gone  astray ;  for  half  an  hour  suffices 
to  go  from  one  end  of  the  mner  city  to  the  other. 
Coming  to  a  street  corner,  she  paused  and  looked 
about  for  the  tower,  and  at  last  made  it  out  on  her 
right.  Then  she  knew  where  she  was,  and  concluded 
that  Singer  Street  must  be  somewhere  in  the  vicinity. 
As  she  stood  there  in  uncertainty,  the  great  clock 
struck  again  —  midnight  this  time  —  and,  as  it  struck, 
a  fiery  rocket  shot  upward  from  the  turret's  summit, 
—  a  signal  seen  and  understood  by  some  one  in  the 
distance. 

By  the  bright  but  momentary  glare  of  this  rocket, 
Edith's  eyes  sought  in  all  haste  the  name  of  the 
street  in  which  she  stood.  With  a  thrill  of  joy,  she 
read  on  the  wall  over  her  head  the  word  "  Singer- 
strasse."  Now  she  had  the  Ariadne  clue  in  her  hand, 
and,  before  the  rocket  burst  and  its  light  suddenly 
went  out,  leaving  her  in  aj^joarently  deeper  darkness 
than  before,  she  had  learned  that  the  house  next  to 
her  was  number  i,  and  that  consequently  all  the 
numbers  on  that  side  of  the  street  were  odd.  By 
simply  counting  the  doors  she  could  soon  find  num- 
ber 17. 

Feeling  her  way  with  her  hands  like  a  blind  person, 
lest  she  should  omit  a  door  in  her  course,  Edith 
moved  slowly  from  house  to  house,  counting  the 
numbers  as  she  went. 


TJiUE   LOVE.  151 

"Thirteen,  fifteen,"  she  whispered;  "now  the 
next  will  be  seventeen.  Who  is  there  ? "  she  cried 
suddenly,  starting  back  in  alarm  as  her  hands 
encountered  a  human  form. 

"The  blessed  Virgin  and  St.  Anne!"  exclaimed 
the  unknown,  equally  frightened.  It  proved  to  be 
an  old  woman  who  was  crouching  in  the  doorway,  and 
over  whom  Edith  had  unwittingly  stumbled. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  panted  the  girl,  recov- 
ering from  her  fright.  "You  see  I  was  so  startled 
at  finding  any  one  here." 

"And  I  was  startled,  too,"  rejoined  the  other. 
"  What  do  you  wish^  here,  miss  .-*  " 

"  I  am  looking  for  number  17." 

"And  what  is  your  errand  at  number  17  .^ " 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  a  woman,  a  vegetable-vender 
who  arrived  here  this  evening  with  another  market- 
woman." 

"This  is  the  house,"  said  the  old  woman,  "and  I 
have  the  key  in  my  pocket.     Follow  me." 

She  opened  the  narrow  basement  door  and  admitted 
the  girl,  following  her  and  locking  the  door  behind 
them.  At  the  end  of  the  corridor  a  lamp  was  flicker- 
ing on  the  floor  in  the  draught.  The  old  woman 
raised  the  lamp  and  examined  her  guest  by  its  light. 
At  sight  of  the  convent  dress  she  started  back  with 
an  exclamation  of  surprise.  In  the  young  girl's  form 
and  face,  as  she  stood  there  under  the  feeble  rays  of 


I  52  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

the  lamp,  was  something  that  suggested  to  her  the 
saints  and  martyrs  of  old. 

Edith  was  conducted  to  a  low  basement  room,  in 
whose  corners  she  saw  piles  of  potatoes  and  beets, 
with  strings  of  onions  hanging  on  the  walls.  In  the 
middle  of  the  room  stood  two  straw  chairs,  on  one  of 
which  was  a  tallow  candle  stuck  into  a  hollow  potato, 
while  the  other  was  occupied  by  a  woman  dressed 
in  the  costume  of  a  Vienna  vegetable-vender.  She 
looked  up  and  calmly  surveyed  the  newcomer.  Her 
face  was  not  one  to  betray  surprise  at  any  unexpected 
occurrence  ;  indeed,  its  expression  indicated  an  unusual 
degree  of  self-mastery.  But  the  girl  practised  no 
such  self-control.  Hastening  forward  and  sinking 
on  her  knees  before  the  stranger,  she  seized  her  hand 
and  looked  into  her  face  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"Baroness  Baradlay,"  she  exclaimed  breathlessly, 
"  they  are  plotting  to  murder  your  son  !  " 

The  other  started  slightly,  but  stifled  the  cry  that 
rose  to  her  lips.  "  Richard  .''  "  she  stammered,  forget- 
ting her  caution  for  an  instant. 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  the  other;  "Richard,  your 
Richard  !     Oh,  dear  madam,  save  him,  save  him  !  " 

The  baroness  looked  into  Edith's  face  with  search- 
ing scrutiny.      "  You  are  Edith  t  "  she  asked. 

The  girl  started  in  surprise.  "  Have  you  heard 
my  name  already  ?  "   she  asked. 

"  I    know   you    from   my   son's  letters,"   was    the 


TRUE  LOVE.  153 

reply.  "  In'  your  face  and  your  words  I  read  that 
you  can  be  none  other  than  Richard's  betrothed. 
But  how  did  you  learn  all  this,  —  that  I  was  here, 
who  I  was,  and  that   Richard  was  in  danger.^" 

"  I  will  tell  you  all,"  answered  Edith,  and  she  gave 
a  hurried  account  of  what  she  had  overheard  at  her 
aunt's  that  evening.  "  But  they  were  mistaken  in 
me,"  she  concluded.  "They  thought  my  spirit  was 
broken  and  that  they  could  do  what  they  wished  with 
me.  But  I  ran  away  from  them  ;  I  ran  all  the  way 
here  in  the  dark,  and  though  I  never  saw  you  before, 
I  knew  you  at  once.  God  protected  and  guided  me, 
and  he  will  lead  me  still  farther." 

The  speaker's  passionate  words  betrayed  so  much 
nobility  of  soul  that  the  baroness,  quite  carried  away 
with  admiration,  put  her  arm  around  Edith's  neck 
and  let  her  eyes  rest  tenderly  on  the  face  of  the  girl 
who  showed  such  true  love  for  her  Richard. 

"Calm  yourself,  my  child,"  said  she,  "and  let  us 
take  counsel  together.  You  see  I  am  perfectly  com- 
posed. This  plot  is  to  be  carried  out  to-morrow 
morning,  you  say  .-^  " 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Then  half  the  night  is  still  left  for  defeating  it." 

The  girl  clasped  her  hands  with  a  beseeching  ges- 
ture.    "  Oh,  take  me  with  you  !  "  she  begged. 

The  other  considered  a  moment.  "  Very  well," 
she  replied,  "  you  may  come,  too." 


154  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Edith  clapped  her  hands  with  deHght,  while  the 
baroness  opened  the  door  and  called  the  market- 
woman. 

"  Frau  Babi,"  said  she,  "we  must  set  out  at  once, 
and  this  young  lady  will  accompany  us." 

"  Then  she  must  wear  another  dress,"  interposed 
the  old  woman. 

"And  have  you  one  for  her  .-* "  asked  the  baroness. 

"Oh,  plenty  of  them."  And  with  that  Frau  Babi 
raised  the  cover  of  an  old  chest  and  rummaged  about 
for  garments  suitable  for  a  young  peasant  girl's  wear. 
She  seemed  to  have  an  ample  stock  of  old  clothes. 

"  A  charming  little  market -wench  !  "  exclaimed  the 
old  woman,  when  she  had  wrought  the  desired  meta- 
morphosis. "  And  now  for  a  basket  to  carry  on  her 
back.  You  never  carried  anything  like  that  before, 
I'll  warrant.  But  don't  fear  ;  I'll  find  you  a  light 
one  and  fill  it  with  dry  rolls  that  won't  weigh  any- 
thing. We  two  will  manage  the  potatoes  and 
onions." 

Edith  regarded  it  all  as  an  excellent  joke  and  hung 
her  basket  on  her  back  in  great  good  humour. 

The  clocks  were  striking  two  as  the  three  women 
at  length  reached  the  Kaiserstrasse.  At  the  barri- 
cade there  was  no  guard  visible.  The  investing 
forces  here  consisted  only  of  a  small  detachment  of 
cavalry  whose  main  body  was  encamped  at  Schwe- 
chat  ;  and  cavalry  is  never  used  for  storming  barri- 


TRUE  LOVE.  155 

cades.  Nevertheless,  there  were  sharpshooters 
posted  in  the  neighbouring  houses  to  guard  against 
a  possible  assault.  Thus  the  women  were  able  to 
pass  unchallenged. 

It  was  a  more  difficult  task,  however,  to  get 
through  the  investing  lines.  But  those  who  remem- 
ber the  Vienna  of  those  days  will  recall  the  unfilled 
hollow  between  Hernals  and  what  was  then  known 
as  the  Schmelz,  designed  to  receive  the  water  that 
flowed  from  the  mountains  after  heavy  rains.  Hewn 
stones  and  wooden  planks  lined  the  sides  of  this 
depression.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  spot  to  visit,  but 
it  offered  a  good  hiding-place  to  any  one  seeking 
concealment. 

Frau  Babi  led  the  way  down  into  this  hollow, 
which  was  then,  luckily,  free  from  water.  Climbing 
out  on  the  farther  side,  she  looked  cautiously  around 
and  then  bade  the  others  follow  her,  first  drawing  up 
their  baskets  for  them. 

"Leave  them  here,"  said  she.  "The  hussars  are 
over  yonder." 

At  a  distance  of  two  hundred  paces  could  be  seen 
a  couple  of  men  standing  by  a  watch-fire,  while 
beyond  them,  within  the  cemetery,  five  or  six  more 
fires  were  burning  in  a  group,  indicating  the  encamp- 
ment of  the  squadron. 

"I  was  right,"  added  the  old  woman.  "You  two 
go  on  now ;  you  won't  need  me  any  longer." 


156  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

Taking  Edith  by  the  hand,  Baroness  Baradlay 
advanced  toward  the  first  watch-fire.  The  sentinels 
saw  their  approach,  but  did  not  challenge  them  until 
they  were  very  near. 

.    "Halt!      Who    goes    there.''"    cried    one    of   the 
horsemen. 

"Friends,"  was  the  answer. 

"Give  the  countersign." 

"  Saddle  horses  and  right  about  !  " 

At  this  the  hussar  sprang  from  his  saddle,  ap- 
proached the  baroness,  and  kissed  her  hand  respect- 
fully. "We  have  been  looking  for  you,  madam," 
said  he. 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am,  Paul .-' " 

"  Yes,  madam,  and  thank  heaven  you  are  here 
safely." 

"  Where  is  my  son  "i  " 

"  I  will  take  you  to  him  at  once.  And  that  pretty 
little  creature .'' "  he  asked,  in  a  low  tone,  pointing  to 
Edith. 

"  She  comes  with  me." 

"  I  understand." 

The  old  hussar  left  his  horse  in  his  comrade's  care 
and  led  the  two  women  toward  a  small  whitewashed 
house  which  stood  within  the  cemetery,  and  had 
formerly  been  used  as  the  grave-digger's  dwelling, 
but  now  served  as  Richard's  quarters.  He  occupied 
a  little  room  that  looked  out  upon  the  city,  and  this 


TRUE   LOVE.  157 

room  he  had  that  moment  entered  after  a  late  night 
ride. 

"There  they  are  again  !  "  he  cried,  bringing  his  fist 
down  heavily  on  the  table,  upon  which  the  latest 
newspapers  from  Pest  were  spread  out,  showing  a 
number  of  articles  marked  with  red.  "  Into  the  fire 
with  them  !  " 

But,  angry  as  he  seemed  to  be  at  finding  the  papers 
thrust  upon  his  notice,  Captain  Baradlay  could  not 
persuade  himself  to  burn  them  unread  ;  and  having 
once  begun  to  read,  he  could  not  stop.  Resting  his 
elbows  on  the  table  and  his  head  in  his  hands,  he  read 
over  and  over  again  the  marked  passages,  his  brow 
darkening  as  he  proceeded. 

"  It  is  not  true,  it  cannot  be  true  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
struggling  with  his  feelings.  "  It  is  all  false,  it  is 
utterly  preposterous  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  he  crum- 
pled the  papers  up  in  his  hand.  Old  Paul  entered, 
and  Richard  turned  upon  him  in  a  passion. 

"  What  thieving  rascal  has  been  stealing  into  my 
room  and  leaving  these  infamous  newspapers  on  my 
table  ?  " 

Paul  made  answer  with  his  accustomed  phlegm  : 
"  If  you  told  me  a  thief  had  carried  off  something,  I 
could  understand  it  ;  but  that  a  thief  should  bring 
you  something  is  stranger  than  anything  I  ever  heard 
of." 


158  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  A  bundle  of  newspapers  is  smuggled  through  my 
locked  door  every  day,  and  laid  on  my  table.  Who 
does  it  ? " 

"What  do  I  know  of  newspapers  ?     I  can't  read." 

"  You  are  trying  to  fool  me,  Paul,"  rejoined  his 
master.  "  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that  you  have 
been  learning  to  read  these  last  three  months .''  Who 
is  your  teacher .''  " 

"  Never  mind  about  him.  He  was  a  trumpeter,  a 
student  expelled  from  his  university,  and  he  died 
yesterday.  He  had  been  at  death's  door  for  a  long 
time.  I  begged  him  not  to  take  all  his  learning 
with  him  to  the  next  world,  but  to  leave  me  some 
of  it." 

"  And  why  did  you  want  to  learn  to  read .''  " 

Straightening  himself  up,  the  old  soldier  answered 
firmly :  "  Captain,  I  could  easily  give  you  a  false 
reply  to  that  question.  If  I  wished  to  deceive  you,  I 
could  say  I  had  learned  to  read  because  I  wanted  to 
be  promoted.  But  I  will  tell  you  the  truth  :  I  have 
learned  to  read  in  my  old  age  in  order  to  know  what 
is  going  on  at  home." 

"  So  you  too  read  this  stuff .''  How  does  it  get  in 
here  .''  " 

"  Never  mind  that  now.  I  have  to  report  that 
two  ladies  wish  to  speak  with  Captain  Baradlay." 

The  astonished  officer  thought  he  must  be  dream- 
ing when  his   old  servant   opened  the  door  and  he 


TRUE  LOVE.  159 

found  himself  face  to  face  with  his  dear  and  honoured 
mother,  while,  peering  out  from  behind  her  back,  was 
seen  the  sweet  young  face  of  the  girl  he  loved  more 
than  life  itself.  Both  forms  were  clad  in  coarse 
peasant  garments,  bedraggled  with  rain  and  mud. 
What  Richard  had  just  been  reading  with  so  much 
incredulity  in  the  newspapers  from  Pest,  he  now  saw 
to  be  true.  Women  of  noble  birth  were  forced  to 
flee  from  their  homes  in  disguise  because  of  the  out- 
rages committed  by  bloodthirsty  hordes  of  marauders  ; 
husbands  and  brothers  were  slain  before  their  eyes, 
and  their  houses  were  set  on  fire.  The  picture  of 
all  this  passed  before  him  in  fancy,  as  he  found 
himself  in  the  presence  of  his  mother  and  his  be- 
trothed. 

He  embraced  and  kissed  the  former  in  a  passion  of 
tenderness,  but  toward  the  latter  he  bore  himself 
with  shyness  and  reserve,  hardly  able  to  believe  it 
was  actually  his  Edith. 

"  So  it  is  all  true  that  the  papers  tell  us  .'' "  he 
asked  his  mother,  pointing  to  the  newspapers  on  his 
table. 

The  baroness  glanced  at  the  marked  items.  "  That 
is  but  a  thousandth  part  of  the  truth,"  she  replied. 

"I  must  believe  it  now,"  he  rejoined,  ''from  the 
mere  fact  that  you  are  here  before  me  as  a  living 
proof."  He  struck  the  table  an  emphatic  blow. 
"  Henceforth  no  general  shall  order  my  movements  ! 


l6o  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

You  only  shall  command  me,  mother.     What  would 
you  have  me  do  ?  "  , 

The  baroness  drew  Edith  to  her  side,  and  then 
turned  to  her  son.  "  This  girl  has  told  me  what  to 
ask  of  you.  Only  an  hour  ago  I  myself  was  at  a  loss 
how  to  proceed." 

"  Edith  !  "  whispered  the  young  man,  caressing  the 
little  hand  extended  toward  him.  "  But  how  has  it 
all  come  about .-'  " 

"This  convent  .pupil,"  replied  the  mother  with  a 
tender  look  at  Edith,  "  overheard  a  plot  that  was 
forming  for  your  destruction.  Whatever  course  you 
choose,  you  are  a  dead  man  if  you  tarry  here  longer. 
Arrest  for  desertion  on  the  one  hand,  and  assassina- 
tion on  the  other,  threaten  you.  And  this  dear  girl, 
without  a  moment's  loss  of  time,  without  stopping  to 
weep  and  wring  her  hands  in  despair,  escaped  from 
her  guardians  and  sought  me  out  in  the  dead  of 
night,  to  beg  me  make  all  haste  and  save  you  while 
there  was  yet  time." 

"  Edith  !  "  stammered  the  young  man  once  more, 
overcome  by  his  feelings. 

"These  are  times,"  continued  the  baroness,  "when 
mothers  are  calling  their  sons  home  ;  but  you  have 
refused  to  listen  to  that  call."  * 

"I  will  Hsten  now,  mother;  only  tell  me  what  to 
do." 

"  Learn  of  your  own  soldiers.     The  watchword  b)' 


TRUE   LOVE.  l6l 

which  we  entered  your  camp  is,  '  Saddle  horses  and 
right  about !  '     It  points  your  course  to  you." 

"So  be  it,  then,"  said  Richard,  and  he  stepped  to 
the  door  and  issued  an  order  to  old  Paul. 

"The  die  is  cast,"  said  he  to  his  mother  as  he 
returned  to  her  side.  "  But  what  will  become  of 
you  }  " 

"The  Father  above  will  watch  over  us,"  she  re- 
turned calmly. 

"  But  you  cannot  go  back  into  the  city,"  objected 
Richard  ;  "  it  will  be  stormed  to-morrow  on  all  sides, 
and  you  would  be  in  great  danger.  I  must  be  off 
while  we  still  have  darkness  and  rain  to  cover  our 
flight ;  and  you  had  best  come  with  me  to  the  next 
village,  where  you  can  get  a  conveyance  and  escape 
into  Hungary.     Take  Edith  with  you,  too,  mother." 

The  women,  however,  both  shook  their  heads. 
"  I  am  going  back  into  the  city,-  my  son,"  declared 
the  baroness, 

"  But  the  town  will  surely  be  taken  to-morrow  and 
you  will  be  in  danger,"  protested  Richard. 

"  Nevertheless  I  am  mindful  but  of  one  thing :  I 
have  another  son  there,  and  I  am  going  back  for  him, 
no  matter  how  great  the  peril.  I  must  bring  him 
away  at  all  hazards." 

Richard  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  Oh, 
mother,"  he  cried,  "how  small  I  seem  to  myself 
before  your  greatness   of   courage    and   loftiness   of 


102  THE   BAkÓN'S  SONS. 

purpose  !  "  He  threw  a  look  at  Edith,  as  if  to  ask  : 
"  What  will  become  of  you,  delicate  lily  uptorn  by  the 
blast  ?     Whither  will  you  go,  where  find  shelter  ?  " 

Edith  understood  the  questioning  look  and  hastened 
to  reply.  "  Don't  be  anxious  about  me.  Your  mother 
will  accompany  me  to  the  convent.  Punishment 
awaits  me  there,  but  it  won't  kill  me  ;  and  I  shall  be 
well  taken  care  of  until  you  come  back  for  me." 

The  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  fell  on  their  ears. 

"  Time  is  flying,  my  son  !  "  exclaimed  the  baroness. 
"You  must  not  linger  another  moment." 

A  slow  rain  was  falling.  The  hussars  were  drawn 
up  in  order,  and  their  captain  had  nothing  to  do  but 
mount  his  horse  and  place  himself  at  their  head. 

"  Saddle  horses  and  right  about  ! "  sounded  the 
subdued  watchword ;  and  the  squadron  wheeled 
around.  The  trumpeter  was  dead,  but  the  valiant 
band  needed  no  bugle  blast  to  spur  it  forward.  In 
a  moment  it  had  vanished  in  the  mist  and  darkness. 

The  two  women  were  escorted  by  old  Paul  back 
to  the  watch-fire,  where  the  market-woman  awaited 
them.  Paul  himself  was  to  remain  behind  with  one 
other  sentinel  to  deceive  the  patrol  and  allay  suspicions. 
Then  the  two  were  to  hasten  after  their  comrades. 

Dawn  was  breaking  when  Edith  reentered  the  con- 
vent. A  cry  of  horror  was  raised  in  the  refectory 
over  her  appearance  at  such  an  hour.     In  the  whole 


TRUE  LOVE.  163 

nunnery  not  an  eye  had  been  closed  that  night,  so 
great  was  the  alarm  caused  by  Sister  Remigia's  return 
unaccompanied  by  her  companion.  The  door  of  the 
coach  had  been  found  open,  Edith  was  not  inside, 
and  the  sister,  awaking  from  her  slumbers,  could 
not  account  for  her  disappearance.  And  what  made 
matters  worse,  no  one  dared  take  any  action  that 
should  publish  the  scandalous  occurrence  abroad. 

Edith  found  herself  besieged  with  questions  on  all 
sides :  where  in  the  world  had  she  been,  and  what 
had  she  been  doing  all  night } 

"  I  will  give  my  answer  this  evening  —  not  be- 
fore," she  declared  ;  and  as  her  unheard-of  contumacy 
yielded  to  no  threats  or  scolding,  chastisement  was 
resorted  to. 

The  pious  sisters  were  horrified  when  they  began 
to  undress  their  obstinate  charge  and  found  her 
clothes  all  wet  and  stained  with  mud.  Who  could 
tell  where  she  had  been  roaming  about  in  the  night .'' 
But  she  would  answer  not  a  word  to  their  questions. 

The  rod  and  the  scourge^  were  applied  with  no 
sparing  hand,  but  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  could 
make  her  confess.  The  brave  girl  only  closed  her 
teeth  the  more  tightly  when  the  shameful  blows 
struck  her  tender  body,  and  after  each  stroke  she 
whispered  to  herself  :  "  Dear  Richard  !  "  —  repeating 
the  words  until  at  last  she  fainted  under  the  torture. 
When  she  recovered  consciousness  she  found  herself 


164  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

in  bed,  her  body  half  covered  with  plasters.  She  was 
in  a  high  fever,  but  was  able  to  note  the  approach  of 
nightfall.      She  had  slept  nearly  all  day. 

"Now  I  will  tell  where  I  have  been,"  said  she  to 
those  around  her  bed.  "  I  went  to  the  camp  of  the 
hussars  and  passed  the  night  in  the  room  of  my  lover, 
their  captain.  Now  you  may  publish  it  abroad  if  you 
choose." 

At  this  fearful  revelation  the  prioress  threw  up  her 
hands  in  consternation.  Naturally  she  took  every 
precaution  to  keep  the  matter  secret ;  for  had  it 
been  allowed  to  leak  out,  the  good  name  of  that 
nunnery  would  have  been  ruined. 


k 


CHAPTER    XV. 


MOTHER    AND    SON. 


Jeno  had  of  late  made  his  abode  in  the  Planken- 
horst  house,  having  formally  installed  himself  there  in 
the  room  of  the  footman,  who  had  gone  to  join  the 
insm'gents  at  the  barricades.  Thus  the  young  man 
was  able  to  be  in  the  house  day  and  night.  Extraor- 
dinary events  produce  extraordinary  situations.  The 
young  man's  cup  of  happiness  held  but  one  drop  of 
bitterness,  —  anxious  uncertainty  what  the  morrow 
might  bring  forth.  Would  the  cause  of  the  insur- 
gents prevail,  or  would  they  be  defeated  ?  And  what 
would  be  his  fate  and  that  of  the  Plankenhorsts,  in 
the  latter  case  .-• 

The  assault  had  come  to  an  end  on  the  evening  of 
the  third  day.  The  insurgents  had  in  great  part  laid 
down  their  arms,  only  a  few  detached  companies  still 
maintaining  the  unequal  contest  in  the  outlying  dis- 
tricts. The  victorious  army  was  already  advancing 
into  the  city  along  its  principal  streets.  In  the  Plan- 
kenhorst  parlours  there  were  but  three  persons,  the 
two  ladies  and  Jeno.     Those  who  had  of  late  been 

i6s 


1 66  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

such  constant  frecjuenters  of  that  drawing-room  were 
now  falten  or  scattered.  As  the  mihtary  band  at  the 
head  of  the  conquering  forces  passed  the  house,  Jenő 
heard  heavy  steps  ascending  the  stairs.  The  victors 
were  coming ;  they  had  singled  out  that  particular 
house,  and  there  was  no  escape.  The  young  man 
nerved  himself  to  meet  any  issue  —  except  the  one 
actually  before  him. 

The  old  family  friends  and  acquaintances,  the  pre- 
revolutionary  frequenters  of  the  Plankenhorst  parties, 
came  pouring  into  the  room,  smiling  with  triumph, 
and  all  meeting  with  a  hearty  welcome  from  the 
ladies,  who  seemed  to  take  the  whole  affair  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  to  be  affected  by  the  sudden 
change  of  atmosphere  no  more  than  if  the  past  eight 
months,  with  their  stirring  scenes  and  epoch-making 
events,  had  been  but  a  dream. 

No  one  paid  any  heed  to  Jenő  or  seemed  in  the 
smallest  degree  conscious  of  his  presence,  until  one 
guest  entered  who  was  polite  enough  to  give  him  a 
word  of  greeting.  It  was  Rideghváfy.  Making  his 
entrance  with  no  little  pomp  and  ostentation,  he  con- 
gratulated the  ladies  with  much  effusion  and  shook  a 
hand  of  each  in  both  his  own.  Leaving  them  upon 
the  entrance  of  a  new  guest,  he  sought  out  Jeno, 
who  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  windows,  a  passive 
spectator  of  the  scene  before  him. 

"  Your  humble  servant,  my  young  friend,"  was  the 


■^.ő^ 


v^,  ^---^^^CZ_ 


MOTHER   AND   SON.  ló/ 


elder's  condescending  salutation.  "  Glad  to  find  you 
here,  for  I  have  matters  of  importance  to  discuss 
with  you  which  may  have  great  influence  on  your 
future.  Pray  be  good  enough  to  go  home  and  await 
my  coming." 

Jeno  had  still  spirit  enough  to  resent  this  summary 
mode  of  sending  him  home.  "  I  am  at  your  Excel- 
lency's service,"  he  replied.  "  You  will  not  need  to 
go  out  of  the  house ;  I  am  living  here  at  present,  — 
on  the  third  floor,  at  the  right  as  you  go  up." 

"Ah,  I  didn't  know  that,"  answered  the  other,  in 
surprise.  "  Have  the  goodness,  then,  to  wait  for  me 
there."  With  that  his  Excellency  returned  to  the 
ladies,  leaving  the  young  man  to  seek  his  chamber  in 
no  very  pleasant  frame  of  mind. 

That  room,  in  which  visions  of  rapture  had  visited 
the  slumbers  of  the  youthful  lover,  was  a  paradise  to 
him  no  longer.  The  weary  humdrum  of  ordinary  life 
was  beginning  again.  What  in  the  world  could  that 
angular  gentleman  have  to  say  to  him,  he  wondered. 
He  seemed  long  enough,  in  all  conscience,  about 
coming. 

Suddenly  the  rustling  of  a  woman's  dress  fell  on 
Jeno's  listening  ear,  and  in  another  moment  Alfon- 
sine  entered  his  room.  She  had  run  away  from  the 
company  below  and  had  hurried  up  alone  to  her  lover. 
She  seemed  agitated,  and  her  coming  had  apparently 
been  a   sudden  impulse.      Falling   on   Jeno's   bosom 


I  68  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

and  embracing  him,  she  burst  out  with  every  sign  of 
passionate  emotion  : 

"  They  want  to  part  us  !  " 

"Who?"  asked  Jenő,  no  little  disturbed  by  the 
other's  manner. 

"They,  they!"  cried  she,  half  choked  with  emo- 
tion, and  bursting  into  tears,  while  she  clasped  her 
lover  still  more  closely. 

Jenö's  agitation  increased  ;  he  became  thoroughly 
alarmed.  "For  heaven's  sake,  Alfonsine,"  he  begged, 
"  do  be  cautious !  Rideghváry  is  hkely  to  come  in 
at  any  moment,  and  what  if  he  found  you  here .''  " 
Poor,  kind-hearted  youth,  more  careful  of  his  sweet- 
heart's good  name  than  she  herself ! 

"  Oh,  he  won't  come  yet,"  she  made  haste  to 
assure  him.  "  He  and  mamma  are  having  a  talk, 
and  they  have  decided  that  you  must  return  to  your 
lodging  at  once,  —  that  you  are  not  to  stay  here  a 
day  longer.  Oh,  I  know  what  that  means ;  we  are 
to  be  parted  for  ever." 

Jenő  was  on  the  point  of  fainting  ;  each  word  from 
his  sweetheart's  lips  struck  him  with  dismay.  Mean- 
while she  continued  her  passionate  outburst. 

"I  will  not  be  separated  from  you  !  "  she  declared. 
"  I  am  yours,  yours  for  ever,  yours  in  life  and  in 
death,  your  beloved,  your  wife,  ready  to  sacrifice  all 
for  you,  to  suffer  all  !  " 

At  length  she  recovered  her  com]iosurc  somewhat, 


^  MOTHER   AND  SON.  1 69 

and,   lifting  her  tearful   eyes   to   heaven,  breathed    a  ^ 
solemn  vow :  "  To  you,  my  friend,  my  lover,  my  all,  . 
to  you  or  to  the  grave  I  dedicate  myself.      No  power 
on  earth  shall  tear  me  from  you.     For  your  sake  I 
will  leave  kith  and  kin,  abjure  my  faith,  disown  the 
mother  who  bore  me,   if  they  stand  in  the  way  of 
our   happiness.      For   you   I   will    go   into  exile   and    / 
wander  over  the  earth  as  a  homeless  beggar.     What-  / 
ever  your  destiny,  —  be  it  life  or  be  it  death,  —  I  will 
share  it." 

The  exaltation  of  the  moment  quite  robbed  Jenő  of 
his  last  bit  of  reason.  Was  it  all  a  dream,  or  was  it 
reality,  he  asked  himself. 

Neither  one  nor  the  other,  dear  Jenő,  but  an  excel- 
lent bit  of  play-acting.  Poor  credulous  youth  !  It 
is  all  a  part  of  a  well-laid  and  far-reaching  plot,  of 
which  you  are  the  innocent  victim. 

After  leaving  her  lover,  Alfonsine  did  not  return 
to  the  drawing-room,  but  hastened  to  her  maid's 
chamber,  where  she  learned  that  Sister  Remigia  was 
waiting  for  her  in  her  room.  First  removing,  with 
Betty's  help,  the  traces  of  her  scene  with  Jenő, 
Alfonsine  hurried  to  meet  the  nun. 

"  Is  Major  Palvicz  here  .''  "  she  demanded. 

"No,"  answered  the  sister;  "he  only  returned 
yesterday  from  his  pursuit  of  Captain  BaradUy, 
whom  he  failed  to  overtake." 

"  Did  he  send  an  answer  to  my  letter  .'' 


170  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"Yes;  there  it  is."  Sister  Remigia  handed  Al- 
fonsine  a  note,  and  then  crossed  the  corridor  to 
Antoinette's  room. 

Alfonsine  remained  behind  to  read  her  letter.  She 
first  locked  her  door,  to  guard  against  surprise,  after 
which  she  sat  down  at  her  table  and  broke  the  seal. 

"Gracious  lady,"  ran  the  note,  "when  you  find 
what  you  have  mislaid,  you  shall  recover  what  you 
have  lost." 

At  these  enigmatical  words  the  reader  of  the  mes- 
sage turned  pale  and  the  paper  trembled  in  her  hand. 
Her  eyes  rested  on  her  porcelain  lamp-shade,  on 
which  was  painted  the  well-known  picture  of  an  angel 
flying  heavenward  with  a  sleeping  child.  The  young 
woman  gazed  intently  at  the  translucent  figures,  as 
if  watching  to  see  whither  the  angel  would  carry  the 
little  child. 

Meanwhile  Jeno  was  listening  at  his  door  for  the 
departure  of  the  last  guest  from  the  drawing-room. 
Finally  they  were  all  gone  and  he  was  able  to  speak 
with  the  baroness  alone. 

"Baroness,"  said  he,  "there  have  been  great 
changes  since  yesterday.  Let  me  hope  that  one 
thing,  at  any  rate,  has  not  altered,  —  the  relation  that 
has  hitherto  existed  between  Alfonsine  and  myself, 
with  the  apparent  sanction  of  the  young  lady's 
mother.  I  regard  that  relation  as  the  very  breath  of 
my    life,    and  I    beg  you,  madam,  to    let    me    know 


MOTHER   AND  SON.  I/I 

whether  there  is  any  reason  why  I  should  fear  a 
discontinuance  of  your  favour." 

"My  dear  Baradlay,"  returned  Antoinette,  "you 
know  very  well  that  we  are  warmly  attached  to  you, 
and  in  that  attachment  you  cannot  have  detected  any 
diminution,  nor  shall  you  in  the  future.  My  daughter 
has  a  sincere  fondness  for  you,  and  thinks  of  no  one 
else,  while  I,  for  my  part,  could  not  but  feel  myself 
honoured  by  a  tie  that  should  connect  us  with  the 
noble  house  of  Baradlay.  Só  far,  then,  there  is  noth- 
ing to  be  said  against  your  engagement.  The  late 
turn  of  events,  however,  has  brought  with  it  a  change 
that  affects  you  intimately  ;  and  that  change,  my 
dear  Baradlay  —     Do  I  need  to  speak  further  }  " 

"  Really,  I  cannot  think  what  you  mean,  madam," 
protested  Jenő. 

"  You  can't .''     H'm  !     What,  pray,  are  you  now  ?  " 

"What  am  I  ?     Nothing  at  present." 

"That  is  it  exactly.  Henceforth  you  are  nothing. 
There  are  now  two  hostile  parties,  and  each  is  striv- 
ing for  the  mastery.  In  this  strife  it  is  uncertain  as 
yet  which  will  win,  or  whether  they  may  not  effect  a 
compromise  ;  but  in  any  event  he  is  lost  who  belongs 
to  neither  side.  Yet  do  not  consider  my  words  as 
a  definite  rejection  of  your  suit.  We  are  attached 
to  you,  and  wish  the  consummation  of  that  which  you 
so  ardently  desire.  I  impose  upon  you  no  seven- 
year  probation,  like  that  required  by  Jacob's  father- 


1/2  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

in-law.  So  soon  as  you  shall  succeed  in  winning  a 
place  in  the  world,  so  soon  as  you  cease  to  be  a 
nobody  in  our  political  and  national  life,  I  shall  be 
the  first  to  bid  you  welcome,  —  whether  to-morrow 
or  next  month  or*next  year.  Meanwhile  you  have 
my  best  wishes." 

There  was  nothing  for  the  young  man  to  do  but 
take  his  lesson  to  heart  and  return  to  his  former 
quarters.  The  baroness  had  told  him  he  was  a 
nobody,  and  he  could  not  dispute  her.  He  was, 
moreover,  forced  to  remember  that  the  monthly 
allowance  regularly  forwarded  to  him  by  his  mother 
had  failed  to  reach  him  the  last  month,  and,  in 
consequence,  he  was  likely  to  find  himself  financially 
embarrassed  within  a  very  few  days.  There  is  some- 
thing decidedly  depressing  in  an  empty  purse. 

Scarcely  had  he  returned  to  the  dreary  atmosphere 
of  his  old  rooms  when  Rideghváry  paid  him  the 
honour  of  a  call. 

"In  the  first  place,"  began  Rideghváry,  "I  have  a 
letter  to  deliver  to  you.  It  is  from  your  mother. 
Put  it  in  your  pocket  and  read  it  later.  For  the 
last  two  weeks,  as  you  may  know,  the  commanding 
general  has  detained  all  mails  and  ordered  all  letters 
to  be  opened.  It  was  a  necessity  of  the  situation  — 
to  prevent  treason.  On  your  letter  I  chanced  to 
recognise  your  mother's  handwriting,  and  I  was 
fortunately  able  to  rescue  it  from  the  common  fate 


L^  y^-    MOTHER  AND   SOX.  1 73 

and  bring  it  to  you.  No  one  has  tampered  with  it, 
but  it  probably  treats  of  matters  that  are  no  longer 
of  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  government.  Further- 
more, the  writer  will  be  here  in  person  before  many 
hours  have  passed." 

"  Is  my  mother  in  the  city .'' "  asked  Jenő,  much 
surprised. 

"  Yes,  she  is  here  somewhere,  and  the  reason  you 
haven't  seen  her  before  is  that  you  kept  yourself  at 
the  Plankenhorsts',  whither  she  had  her  grounds  for 
not  going.  But  you  may  be  sure  she  has  sought  you 
here  at  least  a  dozen  times,  and  she  will  come  again 
to-day." 

"  But  what  is  she  doing  in  Vienna  .''  " 

"  Nothing  good,  as  we  know  but  too  well,  alas  ! 
She  came  to  persuade  your  brother  Richard  to  desert 
with  his  men  and  return  to  Hungary." 

"And  did  she  succeed  }  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  detachment  of  cavalry  was  sent  in 
pursuit  of  him  three  days  ago.  He  has  fled  to  the 
mountains  of  Galicia,  whence  he  cannot  possibly 
escape  on  horseback  over  the  border.  Your  mother, 
meanwhile,  is  here  in  hiding  ;  she  is  one  of  those 
whom  the  authorities  are  trying  to  arrest." 

"  Merciful  heaven  !  "  cried  Jeno,  starting  up  from 
his  chair. 

"  Keep  your  seat.  Until  to-morrow  morning  she 
will  be  in  no  danger.      The  city  is  now  in  the  hands 


174  THE   BARON'S  SONS.  S'l^p 

of  the  army,  the  civil  government  being  as  yet 
unorganised.  There  is  no  effective  poHce  and  detec- 
tive force ;  all  that  takes  time,  and  in  the  general 
confusion  now  prevailing,  any  one  who  wishes  can 
easily  remain  in  hiding.  But  no  one  can  leave  the 
city  undetected,  as  the  lines  are  closely  drawn  and 
every  traveller  is  stopped  and  required  to  show  a 
passport.  Now,  although  I  have  reason  enough  to 
feel  embittered  against  your  family,  yet  I  cannot 
allow  your  father's  widow  to  come  to  such  an  untimely 
end  as  at  present  threatens  her.  So  I  have  provided 
a  passport  with  a  fictitious  name  for  her  use,  and  you 
will  hand  it  to  her  when  she  comes.  And  now  let 
us  talk  about  your  affairs,  my  dear  Jenő.  You 
remained  in  Vienna  after  the  March  uprising,  and 
have  maintained  throughout  a  cool  and  impartial 
attitude  which  nothing  short  of  genius  could  have 
dictated.  The  espousal  of  a  cause  before  one  can 
judge  of  its  merits  —  much  less  be  sure  of  its  ulti- 
mate success  —  indicates  weakness  of  judgment  and 
a  lack  of  mental  stability.  Therefore  you  were  quite 
right  in  holding  aloof  from  either  side  ;  yet  you  must 
not  continue  to  hide  your  light  under  a  bushel.  A 
fortunate  chance  has  placed  a  very  important  appoint- 
ment virtually  in  my  hands,  since  a  testimonial  from 
me  is  more  than  likely  to  decide  the  choice  of  an 
incumbent.  Your  qualifications-  and  ability  justify 
me  in  regarding  you  as  the  fittest  person  to  fill  this 


MOTHER  AND  SOM.  1 75 

position.  It  is  the  secretaryship  of  our  embassy  to 
Russia." 

Jenö's*  heart  beat  high  with  gratified  self-esteem 
at  the  sudden  prospect  of  both  reahsing  his  proudest 
ambition  and  attaining  liis  heart's  fondest  desire. 
He  had  often  heard  his  father  refer  to  this  eminent 
post  as  the  goal  for  which  Ödön  was  to  strive.  His 
head  fairly  swam  at  the  vision  so  unexpectedly  pre- 
sented to  him.  In  his  wildest  dreams  he  had  scarcely 
dared  soar  so  high. 

Meanwhile  the  other  pretended  not  to  note  the 
effect  he  had  produced  on  the  young  man.  Consult- 
ing his  watch,  he  rose  hastily.  "  I  have  stayed  too 
long,"  said  he.  "Another  engagement  calls  me. 
You  will  have  until  to-morrow  morning  to  consider 
my  proposal.  Weigh  the  matter  well,  for  your  de- 
cision will  be  of  no  little  importance  as  regards  your 
whole  future  career.  Look  at  the  question  from  all 
sides,  and  take  your  mother  into  your  confidence  if 
you  wish  ;  she  may  have  weighty  arguments  to  urge 
against  your  acceptance.  Consider  them  all  carefully, 
and  then  decide  for  yourself." 

So  saying,  he  took  his  leave,  well  knowing  the 
impression  he  had  made  on  his  plastic  subject,  and 
fully  confident  that  the  young  man  would  take 
good  heed  not  to  breathe  a  word  of  all  this  to  his 
mother. 

As  soon  as  he  had  left  the  room,  Jenő  broke  the 


1/6  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

seal  of  his  letter.  His  monthly  allowance  was  en- 
closed, and  also  a  few  lines  in  his  mother's  hand. 

"My  dear  son,"  she  wrote,  "I  have  read  your 
letter  asking  me  to  share  in  your  happiness  and  to  give 
my  love  to  the  young  woman  whom  you  wish  to  make 
your  wife.  Any  happiness  that  befalls  you  cannot 
fail  to  rejoice  me  also.-  Rank,  wealth,  birth  are 
slight  matters  in  my  eyes.  If  you  chose  a  bride 
from  the  working  classes, — a  virtuous,  industrious, 
pure-hearted  girl,  —  I  should  give  you  my  blessing 
and  rejoice  in  your  happiness  ;  or  if  you  should  select 
a  spoiled  creature  of  fashion,  a  coquette  and  a  spend- 
thrift, I  should  still  receive  your  bride  as  my  daugh- 
ter, and  pray  God  to  bless  the  union  and  turn  evil 
into  good  ;  but  if  you  marry  Alfonsine  Plankenhorst, 
it  will  be  without  the  blessing  of  either  God  or  your 
mother,  and  we  shall  be  parted  for  ever." 

That  was  a  cruel  thrust.  How,  he  asked  himself, 
had  Alfonsine  incurred  his  mother's  displeasure .'' 
What  possible  offence  could  she  have  committed  .-* 
He  recalled  her  words,  —  "  For  your  sake  I  will  leave 
kith  and  kin,  abjure  my  faith,  disown  the  mother  who 
bore  me,"  —  and  remembered  the  passionate  kisses 
and  warm  embrace  that  had  accompanied  the  vow. 
And  should  he  be  outdone  by  her  in  devotion  }  Was 
his  fondness  for  his  mother  stronger  than  his  love  for 
Alfonsine  .-'  Was  not  the  one  feeling  a  weakness  and 
the  other  a  mark  of  manly  strength  t     Surely  he  was 


MOTHER   AND   SOM.  lyj 

no  longer  a  child.  How  scornfully  that  other  mother 
had  told  him  he  was  a  mere  nobody,  and  bade  him 
make  a  place  for  himself  in  the  world  if  he  wished  to 
marry  her  daughter  !  What  a  triumph  it  would  be 
to  appear  before  that  proud  woman  on  the  morrow, 
with  a  man's  full  right  to  claim  his  own ! 

He  resolved  to  accept  Rideghváry's  offer  and  to 
listen  to  no  argument  or  pleading  by  which  his 
mother  might  seek  to  dissuade  him.  Bidding  his 
servant  udmit  unannounced  the  lady  who  had  al- 
ready called  a  number  of  times,  he  sat  awaiting 
her  coming.  But  he  waited  in  vain,  and  at  last 
threw  himself  on  his  bed  and  fell  asleep.  His 
rest  was  troubled,  however,  by  a  succession  of  bad 
dreams. 

Filled  with  fears  for  his  mother's  safety,  Jenő 
hastened  the  next  morning,  as  early  as  propriety 
would  allow,  to  call  upon  Rideghváry. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  my  mother  .^  "  were 
his  first  words  after  greeting  his  patron.  "  She  did 
not  come  to  see  me  yesterday." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  the  other  ;  "she  has  made 
her  escape.  The  market-woman,  in  whose  house  she 
hid,  was  arrested  last  night  and  acknowledged  hav- 
ing accompanied  your  mothe*  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  where  a  carriage  was  waiting  for  her.  She 
must  be  in  Pressburg  by  this  time." 

These  words  relieved  poor  Jenö's  breast  of  a  heavy 


l/S  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

load.     His  mother  was  out  of  danger  and  he  was  free 
to  act  for  himself. 

"Well,  have  you  considered  my  proposal  }  "  asked 
Rideghváry. 

"  Yes.  I  have  decided  to  accept  the  appointment." 
Rideghváry  pressed  the  young  man's  hand.  "  I 
was  sure  you  would,"  said  he;  "and,  to  show  you 
my  confidence  in  you,  I  have  your  certificate  of  ap- 
pointment all  made  out."  He  took  an  official  docu- 
ment from  his  table-drawer  and  handed  it  to  Jenő. 
"  To-morrow  you  will  take  the  oath  of  office,  and  then 
you  will  be  free  to  wind  up  your  affairs  here  in 
Vienna." 

Luckily  the  Baroness  Plankenhorst  was  up  and 
dressed  betimes  that  morning,  else  Jeno  would  cer- 
tainly have  sought  her  out  in  her  boudoir.  Hastening 
into  the  proud  lady's  presence,  he  began,  without  a 
moment's  loss  of  time,  the  speech  which  he  had  been 
rehearsing  on  the  way. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "you  will  perhaps  recall  your 
parting  words  to  me  yesterday,  — '  whether  to-mor- 
row or  next  month  or  next  year.'  That  '  to-morrow  ' 
has  come,  and  I  am  here, — no  longer  a  nobody." 
To  prove  his  assertion,  6c  produced  his  certificate  of 
appointment  to  the  secretaryship  of  the  embassy 
to  Russia,  and  handed  it  to  the  baroness. 

With  a  look  of  the  utmost  surprise,  and  a  smile  of 


MOTHER  AND  SOM.  1/9 

hearty  congratulation,  she  received  the  document  and 
read  it.  "  I  am  indeed  dehghted,"  she  exclaimed, 
giving  the  young  appointee  her  hand.  "  Do  you  wish 
Alfonsine  to  be  informed  of  this  .'*  " 

"If  you  please." 

The  baroness  had  to  go  no  farther  than  the  next 
room  to  find  her  daughter.  Leading  her  in  by  the 
hand,  she  presented  "the  secretary  of  the  Austrian 
legation  at  the  court  of  St.  Petersburg." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Alfonsine,  when  she  had  some- 
what recovered  from  her  apparent  astonishment ;  and 
she  extended  her  hand  with  a  gracious  smile  to  the 
young  incumbent  of  a  twelve-thousand-florin  position. 
He  eagerly  clasped  the  offered  hand  in  both  his  own. 
"  It  is  yours  now"  to  keep,"  she  whispered  with  an- 
other smile,  and  then  turned  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
mother's  bosom,  overcome,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  by  a 
feeling  of  maidenly  modesty  and  girlish  fear. 

Jenő  next  kissed  his  prospective  mother-in-law's 
hand,  whereupon  she  impressed  a  kiss  on  his  forehead. 
Alfonsine  could  hardly  be  induced  to  raise  her  mod- 
estly downcast  eyes  again  in  the  presence  of  the  man 
who  was  there  to  claim  her  as  his  bride. 

"When  shall  we  announce  the  engagement .-' " 
asked  the  mother,  turning  to  Jenő.  "  To-morrow, 
shall  we  say  —  at  twelve .''  Very  well.  And  now 
are  you  satisfied  with  me } " 

The  young  man's   heart  beat  high  with  triumph 


l80  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

and  happiness,  as  he  returned  to  his  rooms.  He 
felt  that  at  last  he  had  begun  to  live  ;  hitherto  he 
had  only  vegetated,  but  now  he  was  entering  on  the 
full  life  of  a  man.  Yet  there  was  some  alloy  in  his 
happiness  even  then.  The  thought  of  his  mother, 
and  of  her  disapproval  of  his  course,  refused  to  be 
banished  from  his  mind  ;  and  though  he  pretended 
to  rejoice  that  she  had  escaped  from  the  city,  and 
had  been  spared  the  pain  of  a  meeting  and  a  useless 
conflict  with  him,  yet  his  conscience  would  not  be 
deceived.  Too  well  he  knew  that  he  was  afraid  to 
meet  his  mother,  and  was  more  relieved  at  being  freed 
from  that  necessity  than  rejoiced  at  her  safe  escape. 

With  the  approach  of  evening  poor  Jenö's  thoughts 
became  such  a  torment  to  him  that  he  prepared  to 
go  out  in  c|uest  of  distraction.  But  on  stepping 
before  his  mirror  to  adjust  his  cravat,  a  sight  met 
his  eyes  that  made  him  start  back  in  sudden  fear. 
Reflected  in  the  glass  he  saw  his  mother  enter  the 
room. 

"  Mother  !  "  he  cried,  turning  toward  her. 

The  woman  before  him  was  not  the  proud,  com- 
manding form  that  he  knew  so  well.  It  was  one  of 
those  sorrowing  figures  which  we  see  painted  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross,  bowed  with  grief  and  spent  with 
watching  and  weeping,  — the  very  incarnation  of  bit- 
ter anguish.  In  such  guise  did  the  Baroness  Barad- 
lay  present  herself  to  her  youngest  son  Jenő,  and 


5^^-  .-^  ^ü.  cU^ 


MOTHER  AND  SON.  l8l 

at  sight  of  her,  the  young  man's  first  thought  was 
one  that  gave  him  no  cause  to  bhish  afterward.  For- 
getting his  dread  of  meeting  her,  he  thought  only  of 
the  danger  to  which  she  was  exposing  herself  in  com- 
ing to  him,  and  he  put  his  arms  around  her,  as  if 
to  shield  her  from  harm.  On  his  cheek  he  felt  the 
warm  kisses,  —  so  different  from  those  of  that  other 
mother !  -> 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  come  to  me,  dear 
mother .-'  "  he  asked. 

"  I  came  by  a  long  way." 

"  They  told  me  you  had  left  the  city,  and  were  in 
Pressburg." 

"  So  I  was.  For  three  days  I  sought  you  in  vain  ; 
then  I  gave  up  the  hope  of  finding  you,  and  left  the 
city.  But  in  Pressburg  I  heard  something  that  made 
me  turn  back  and  seek  you  once  more." 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  do  it  .^ "  exclaimed  the  son. 
"You  had  but  to  send  for  me,  and  I  would  have 
hastened  to  you.     Why  did  you  not  command  me }  " 

"Ah,  my  son,  I  have  forgotten  how  to  command. 
I  have  come  not  to  command,  but  to  implore.  Do 
not  be  afraid  of  me  ;  do  not  look  at  me  as  if  I  were 
a  spectre  risen  between  you  and  your  heart's  desire. 
Not  thus  do  I  come  to  you,  but  only  as  a  suppliant, 
with  one  last  petition." 

"Mother,"  cried  Jeno,  much  moved,  "do  not  speak 
to  me  like  that,  I  beg  of  you." 


1 


182  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Forgive  me.  Only  a  few  days  ago  I  could  have 
commanded  my  sons,  but  not  now.  I  wrote  you  a 
letter  —  did  you  receive  it .''  —  an  arrogant,  offensive 
letter.  Destroy  it ;  let  it  be  as  if  it  had  never  been 
written.  It  was  an  angry  Avoman  that  wrote  it. 
That  proud,  angry  woman  is  no  more.  Grievous 
afflictions  have  humbled  her,  and  the  end  is  not 
yet.  She  is  now  but  a  mourning  widow,  begging 
for  mercy  at  the  open  grave  of  her  sons." 

"  Dear  mother,  your  sons  are  still  alive,"  Jenő 
interposed  reassuringly. 

"  But  do  you  know  where  they  are  ?  One  of  them 
is  fighting  his  way  over  the  Carpathians  to  his  native 
land,  pursued,  surrounded,  and  harassed  on  all  sides. 
At  his  feet  yawns  .the  mountain  chasm  with  the 
raging  torrent  at  its  bottom  ;  over  his  head  the 
storms  vent  their  fury  and  the  hungry  vultures 
wheel  in  circles.  If  he  eludes  his  pursuers,  and 
escapes  starvation  and  freezing,  he  may,  perhaps, 
be  fortunate  enough  to  reach  the  battle-field,  where 
my  eldest  son  awaits  his  coming  at  the  head  of  a 
volunteer  force.  Do  you  know  the  sort  of  soldiers 
who  compose  that  force  .''  Boys  that  have  run  away 
from  their  homes,  and  fathers  that  have  left  their 
wives  and  children.  It  is  as  if  a  feverish  madness 
were  driving  every  one  to  the  field  of  battle,  where 
certains  death  awaits  its  victims." 

"  But  why  do  they  thus  rush  to  their  destruction  .-*  " 


MOTHER   AND  SON.  I  83 

"Because  they  cannot  help  themselves,  in  the 
bitter  woe  that  oppresses  all  hearts." 

"They  may  be  victorious,  mother." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  will  be.  They  will  win  a  glorious 
victory,  but  it  will  avail  them  naught.  It  will  but 
bring  heavier  woes  upon  them.  They  will  show  the 
world  wonderful  deeds  of  daring,  and  compel  the  ad- 
miration of  all  ;  their  star  will  shine  brightly  over  all 
Europe,  now  wrapped  in  darkness  ;  but  it  will  be  so 
much  the  worse  for  them  in  the  end.  Their  fate  is 
already  sealed  by  the  great  world-powers.  If  they 
are  not  prostrated  by  the  first  blow,  another  will  be 
dealt  them,  and  still  another,  until  at  last  they  suc- 
cumb. I  learned  this  in  Pressburg  from  intercepted 
letters,  and  it  brought  me  back  here  again.  How 
could  I  resist  the  longing  to  come  back  and  see  you 
once  more,  —  the  last  time  in  my  life  }  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  speak  so  !  " 

"  You  are  going  far  away,  and  it  will  be  a  dark  day 
for  us  that  sees  your  return.  The  proud  and  power- 
ful have  been  putting  their  heads  together,  and  they 
have  formed  a  plan  for  taking  vengeance  on  their 
mother  country  for  the  chastisement  she  has  inflicted 
on  them." 

"Who  are  they.?" 

"  Your  friends  and  patrons.  But  fear  not ;  I  am 
not  here  to  inveigh  against  them.  They  are  kinder 
to  you  than  I  am.     I  would  point  you  the  way  to 


184  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

ruin  ;  they  show  you  the  road  to  safety.  I  offer  you 
a  joyless  Hfe  of  trials  and  afflictions  ;  they  hold  out 
to  you  happiness  and  a  brilliant  career.  I  cannot 
compete  with  them.  No,  my  son,  you  and  they  are 
right,  and  we  are  but  foolish  enthusiasts,  sacrificing 
ourselves  for  a  mere  nothing,  an  idea,  a  dream.  May 
you  never  be  able  to  understand  us  !  Go  with  those 
who  are  now  preparing  to  ally  themselves  with  the 
Russians  against  their  own  fatherland.  As  Hunga- 
rians, you  and  they  are  of  course  pained  at  the  neces- 
sity of  invoking  your  old  enemy's  aid  against  your 
own  mother  and  brothers  ;  but  you  do  it  because  you 
are  convinced  that  your  mother  and  brothers  must  be 
humbled.  The  Baradlay  escutcheon  has  received  two 
shameful  stains  in  the  conduct  of  Ödön  and  Richard, 
It  is  reserved  for  you  to  wipe  out  those  stains. 
What  a  brilliant  refutation  of  all  charges  it  will  be  in 
the  world's  eyes  to  point  to  the  youngest  son,  who 
atoned  for  the  crime  of  his  two  elder  brothers  by 
joining  the  party  that  summoned  a  mighty  power  to 
the  pacification  of  his  misguided  country  !  "  1 

Jenö's  face  was  white  and  he  sat  gazmg  into 
vacancy.  They  had  not  said  anything  to  him  about 
all  this ;  and  yet  he  might  have  perceived  it  clearly 
enough  with  a  little  reflection. 

"  There  can  be  but  one  issue,"  continued  the 
mother :  "  we  are  lost,  but  you  will  be  saved.  Two 
mighty  powers  are  more  than  we  can  withstand,  be 


MOTHER   AND   SON.  I  85 

we  ever  so  stanch  and  brave.  Your  brothers  will  fall 
sooner  or  later  :  death  is  easy  to  find.  You  will  then 
be  left  as  the  head  of  the  Baradlay  family.  You  will 
be  the  envied  husband  of  a  beautiful  wife,  a  man  of 
high  rank  and  wide  influence,  the  pride  of  the  new 
era  on  which  we  are  entering." 

Jenö's  head  had  sunk  on  his  breast ;  his  heart  was 
no  longer  filled  with  pride  and  exultation.  His 
mother  proceeded. 

"^  "  The  unfortunate  and  the  helpless  will  come  and 
kiss  the  ground  under  your  feet.  You  will  be  in  a 
position  to  do  much  good,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
make  the  most  of  it  ;  for  you  have  a  kind  and  tender 
heart.  Among  the  petitions  that  will  be  laid  before 
you,  do  not  forget  my  own.  You  see  I  have  come 
to  you  as  the  first  suppliant." 

Alas,  how  humiliated  the  young  man  felt  before 
his  mother  !  And  the  more  so  that  she  spoke  not  in 
irony,  but  in  the  gentle  tones  of  pleading  earnest. 

"  Not  for  myself  do  I  ask  anything,"  she  went  on  ; 
"  our  fate  will  soon  overtake  us,  and  if  it  lingered  we 
should,  I  assure  you,  hasten  to  meet  it.  Your 
brother  Richard  is  unmarried  and  so  leaves  no 
family  ;  but  Ödön  has  a  wife  and  two  children,  — 
two  dear,  pretty  children,  the  younger  only  a  month 
old.  You  are  sure  to  be  richly  rewarded  for  your 
great  services.  Your  brothers'  property  will  be  con- 
fiscated and  handed  over  to  you." 


U/v- 


1 86  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 


L 


Jenő  started  up  in  horrified  protest, 

"And  when  you  are  a  rich  and  powerful  man,"  his 
mother  continued,  "  in  possession  of  all  that  we  now 
hold  in  common,  and  when  you  are  crowned  with 
honours  and  happiness,  then,  my  son,  remember  this 
hour  and  your  mother's  petition  :  let  your  brother's 
children  never  suffer  want." 
(  "  Mother  !  "  cried  Jenő,  beside  himself  with  grief  and 
pain.  Hastening  to  his  desk,  he  drew  forth  his  certifi- 
cate of  appointment  from  one  of  its  drawers,  tore  it 
into  a  hundred  pieces,  and  then  sank  weeping  on  his 
mother's  breast.     "  Mother,  I  am  not  going  to  Russia." 

The  mother's  joy  at  these  words  was  too  great  for 
utterance.     She  clasped  her  youngest,  her  dearest  son ' 
in  a  warm  embrace.     "  And  you  will  come  with  me, 
my  boy  .''  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  follow  your  brothers  to  the  ■ 
battle-field.     You  must  stay  at  home  and  be  our  com- 
forter ;  your  life  must  be  spared.     I  wish  you  to  lead 
a  happy  life.     May  I  not   hope  for  many  years  of 
happiness  for  you  }  " 

Jeno  sighed  deeply,  his  thoughts  turning  to  what 
was  now  a  thing  of  the  past,  —  his  bright  dream  of 
happiness.  He  kissed  his  mother,  but  left  her  ques- 
tion unanswered. 

"  Let  us  hurry  away  from  here  at  once,"  said  she, 
rising  from  the  sofa. 


MOTHER  AND  SON.  I  8/ 

Then  for  the  first  time  Jenő  remembered  the  pass- 
port, "This  passport,"  said  he,  producing  it,  "was  all 
in  readiness  for  you  had  you  come  yesterday  ;  and  you 
can  still  make  use  of  it." 

"  Who  gave  it  to  you  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 

"  An  old  friend  of  the  family,  the  same  who  procured 
me  my  appointment." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  will  accept  any  favour  from 
him  .'' "  Therewith  the  baroness  tore  up  the  passport 
and  threw  the  fragments  on  the  floor,  among  those  of 
the  destroyed  certifi-cate. 

"  Oh,  what  have  you  done .-'  "  exclaimed  Jenő  in 
alarm.  "  How  will  you  make  your  escape  }  Every 
outlet  is  barred." 

The  other  merely  raised  her  head  in  scorn  and 
triumph.  "As  if  I  could  not  put  all  their  precautions 
to  shame  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Get  your  cloak,  my  son  ; 
I  will  take  you  by  such  a  way  that  no  man  will  venture 
to  follow  us." 

The  next  day  Rideghváry  waited  in  vain  for  the 
young  secretary,  in  order  to  escort  him  to  the  place 
where  he  was  to  take  the  oath  of  office.  In  vain,  too, 
did  the  bride  and  her  mother,  and  all  the  invited  guests, 
wait  for  the  bridegroom  to  join  them.  He  failed  to 
appear.  , Surely  that  dreaded  mother  of  his  must  have 
seduced  him  ! 

Whither  he  had  vanished,  and  how  he  had  made 


1 88  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

his  way  through  the  hues,  remained  an  unsolved 
riddle.  It  never  occurred  to  any  one  that  in  times 
like  those  the  Danube  offered  an  excellent  road  for 
such  as  dared  trust  their  lives  to  a  frail  boat,  in  the 
mist  and  darkness  of  the  night,  with  two  stout-hearted 
fishermen  at  the  oars. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THROUGH    FIRE    AND    WATER. 

And  now  whither .''  That  was  the  anxious  query 
of  the  deserting  squadron  of  hussars. 

On  one  side  was  the  whole  army,  from  among  wliose 
banners  they  had  wrested  their  own  ;  on  the  other 
were  two  rivers,  the  Danube  and  the  March,  and 
beyond  them  a  mountain  range,  the  Carpathians. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  they  followed  a  bridle-path 
through  the  fields,  knowing  only  that  they  were  riding 
toward  the  Danube.  Then  the  sky  began  to  clear, 
and  they  were  able  to  determine  their  position  more 
exactly.  On  the  right  lay  the  river  like  a  dark  mirror 
under  the  scurrying  clouds. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Richard,  when  he  had  his  men 
all  before  him,  "we  have  begun  a  march  which  will 
take  us  either  home  or  to  destruction.  I  have  to 
warn  you  —  what  you  know  well  enough  already  — 
that  we  are  about  to  face  every  sort  of  peril  and  hard- 
ship. We  must  ride  day  and  night  without  a  halt, 
swim  rivers,  climb  mountains,  bear  hunger,  thirst,  and 

189 


I  go  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

want  of  sleep,  and  be  prepared  to  fight  for  our  lives 
at  every  step.  He  who  faints  by  the  way  is  lost  ;  he 
will  be  taken  prisoner  and  shot.  I  ask  no  man  to 
follow  me.  I  shall  go  ahead  without  turning  back  to 
see  how  many  of  my  two  hundred  and  twenty  men  are 
behind  me.  I  require  no  oath  of  you.  It  is  dark,  and 
whoever  chooses  to  turn  back  may  do  so  when  I  start 
to  lead  the  way  ;  but  when  the  sun  rises,  let  all  who 
are  with  me  then  understand  that  they  are  thence- 
forward under  military  discipline,  and  bound  to  obey 
my  orders  without  murmur  or  complaint.  Now  then, 
follow  me  who  will  !     This  is  the  first  test." 

The  first  test  was  calculated  to  make  the  faint- 
hearted, if  such  there  were,  shrink  with  fear.  The 
Danube  was  to  be  forded.  Richard  was  familiar  with 
the  region  from  his  earlier  military  manoeuvres,  and  he 
knew  the  river's  shoals  and  bars.  For  him  and  his 
old  hussars  it  was  mere  play  to  cross  the  stream  with- 
out bridge  or  ferry  ;  but  the  less  experienced  might 
well  fear  to  breast  its  waters  in  the  dark,  encumbered 
as  they  were  with  their  arms. 

A  young  poplar  grove  received  the  horsemen  on 
the  farther  side,  and  here  their  leader  caused  them  to 
be  counted  by  the  sergeant-major. 

"  Two  hundred  and  twenty,"  reported  that  officer, 
after  completing  the  count. 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  Richard;  "we  left  two 
men  behind  as  sentinels." 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  I9I 

"  Here  we  are !  "  sounded  a  familiar  bass,  which 
was  at  once  recognised  as  old  Paul's. 

"That  you,  Paul?  How  did  you  overtake  us  so 
soon,  and  what  news  from  the  camp  ?  " 

"  The  cuirassiers   broke   camp  and   made   for  the 
city,  as  if  on  puq^ose  to  leave  us  a  clear  field  ;  and 
so  I  said  :  '  What's  the  use  of  standing  guard  here 
any  longer  ?     Come,  brother,  let's  after  the  rest ! '  " 
"And  was  there  no  sign  of  an  alarm  ? " 
"  No,  sir ;  everything  was  as  still  as  a  mouse." 
"  Good  !     Now  all  form  a  square  around  me." 
The  hussars  obeyed    the    order,    falling   in  about 
their  captain  in  closed   ranks.      In   the  east  a  faint 
light  was  beginning  to  mark  the  horizon  line. 

Two  hundred  and  twenty  men,  gathered  together 
in  that  quiet  grove,  swore  blind  obedience  to  their 
commander  and  fearless  execution  of  his  orders  until 
they  should  see  their  homes  once  more.  When  the 
sun  showed  itself  like  a  fiery  dome  on  the  horizon, 
they  saw  that  the  standard  they  were  to  follow  was 
the  familiar  tricolour. 

"We  have  half  a  day's  start  of  our  pursuers," 
said  Richard  to  his  men.  "  The  first  to  discover  our 
flight  will  be  Otto  Palvicz,  the  cuirassier  major. 
When  he  has  followed  our  trail  so  far,  he  will  see 
that  we  have  crossed  the  river.  He  can't  cross  here 
with  his  heavy  cavalry,  but  will  be  obliged  to  turn 
back   to  the  floating   bridge.     By    pushing  on   until 


192  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

late,  to-night,  we  shall  escape  all  danger  of  his  over- 
taking us.      So  much  for  our  first  day's  work." 

Richard  then  divided  his  store  of  ready  money 
among  his  followers,  and  impressed  upon  them  that 
they  were  not,  under  any  circumstances,  to  plunder 
and  rob,  but  were  to  pay  for  all  provisions  consumed. 

Emerging  from  the  poplar  grove,  the  hussars 
struck  into  a  bridle-path  which  led  them  to  a  castle 
owned  by  a  Czechic  magnate,  who  was  at  that  time 
away  from  home ;  but  his  wife  gave  Richard  an 
audience,  with  the  result  that  his  men  received  each 
a  drink  of  brandy,  with  some  bread  and  smoked  meat, 
while  hay  and  oats  were  furnished  for  their  horses. 
Richard  also  obtained  from  the  good  lady  a  map 
which  showed  every  road  and  bridle-path  as  far  as 
the  Moravian  and  Hungarian  borders.  This  map 
proved  afterward  indispensable  to  the  fugitives. 

They  rested  at  the  Czechic  magnate's  castle  for 
two  hours,  when  a  guide  conducted  them  to  the  next 
forest  and  left  them  to  pursue  their  way  farther. 
In  the  depth  of  the  woods  the  shades  of  an  autumn 
afternoon  closed  in  on  the  riders  at  an  early  hour. 
Richard  led  the  way  through  ravines  and  over  moun- 
tains. Reaching  an  elevated  spot  of  ground  that 
commanded  a  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  he 
had  his  attention  called  by  old  Paul  to  the  beacon- 
fires  visible  in  the  gathering  darkness  on  the  distant 
mountain-tops. 


THROUGH  FIRE  AND    WATER.  1 93 

"Those  are  for  our  benefit,"  said  Captain  Baradlay. 

The  fires  were  warning  signals  of  the  fugitives' 
flight,  and  they  soon  began  to  appear  not  only  in  the 
rear,  but  also  on  the  summits  ahead  of  the  riders. 
Thus  the  whole  country  as  far  as  the  border  was 
aroused  to  intercept-  them.  By  the  light  of  a  newly 
kindled  beacon  in  their  rear  Richard  could  see, 
through  his  field-glass,  that  a  body  of  horsemen 
was  already  in  hot  pursuit. 

"  They  are  on  our  trail  much  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected," said  he,  "and  we  hav'e  not  a  moment  to 
waste." 

Hoping  to  elude  pursuit,  he  chose  a  path  leading 
through  a  deep  ravine  which  he  well  remembered 
from  his  hunting  expeditions.  It  formed  a  part  of 
an  Austrian  noble's  estate.  A  mountain  stream 
flowed  through  this  ravine,  its  waters  being  dammed 
at  one  place  to  form  a  large  mill-pond  and  a  fishing 
basin,  and  also  to  supply  necessary  irrigation  at 
certain  seasons.  Richard's  hastily  formed  plan  was 
to  push  on  past  the  mill  and  open  the  sluices  on  his 
way,  thus  flooding  the  narrow  valley  and  cutting  off 
his  pursuers,  who  were  seen  to  be  Otto  Palvicz's 
heavy  cavalry. 

One  contingency,  however,  had  not  occurred  to 
him,  namely,  that  the  trick  he  intended  to  play  on 
Otto  Palvicz  might  be  played  by  some  one  else  on 
himself.     At  a  turn  in  the  ravine  not  far  from  the 


194  '^fJ^-    DA  RON'S  SOA'S. 

mill,  Paul  came  galloping  back  with  the  advance- 
guard  and  reported  that  the  whole  valley  ahead  was 
under  water.  The  miller  had  told  him  that  the  dam 
had  been  opened  only  a  short  time  before  by  the 
forester.  It  had  evidently  been  done  to  cut  off  the 
hussars. 

Richard  spurred  forward  to  the  mill.  Only  a 
narrow  dike  offered  a  passage  across  the  ravine, 
and  even  this  dike  had  been  destroyed  for  a  space 
of  several  yards,  leaving  only  the  piles  projecting 
from  the  water. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Richard,  nothing  dismayed 
by  the  prospect ;  "  go  and  bring  two  or  three  doors 
from  the  mill  and  lay  them  on  the  piles  to  form  a 
bridge." 

The  order  was  promptly  executed,  but  the  horses 
refused  to  cross  on  this  improvised  structure. 

"They  are  afraid  because  it  is  white,"  said  Paul. 

"  Cover  it  with  mud,"  commanded  Richard. 

"That  won't  do,"  objected  the  old  hussar,  "because 
then  we  can't  burn  it  behind  us." 

"  Right,  Paul ;  we  must  set  it  on  fire  as  soon  as 
we  are  over.  Perhaps  we  can  find  some  tar  in  the 
mill." 

A  whole  barrel  of  tar  was  discovered  after  some 
search,  and  a  portion  of  it  poured  over  the  bridge. 
Now,  however,  the  horses  were  more  recalcitrant  than 
before ;  their  hoofs  slipped  on  the  tarred  boards,  and 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  195 

the  hollow  sound  given  back  by  the  frail  bridge 
served  to  increase  their  fear. 

Old  Paul  swore  like  a  heathen.  "  Here  we  are 
caught  in  a  pretty  trap,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Richard,  reassuringly.  "We 
two  must  dismount,  and  one  of  us  lead  the  horses  by 
tl"t€  bridle  while  the  other  urges  them  on  from  behind. 
The  riders  will  stay  in  their  saddles." 

It  was  a  task,  indeed,  to  get  all  the  rearing,  plung- 
ing, and  thoroughly  frightened  animals,  one  after  an- 
other, over  the  shaky  bridge.  The  riders  cursed,  old 
Paul  invoked  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar,  and  Rich- 
ard plied  his  whip  with  an  unsparing  hand,  until,  at 
last,  the  passage  was  accomplished.  It  had  been 
attended  with  so  much  noise,  however,  that  no  hu- 
man ear  within  miles  around  could  have  failed  to 
hear  it. 

Before  long  a  signal-fire  blazed  up  on  the  hill  from 
which  the  fugitives  had  noted  the  beacon-lights. 
Thus  far,  then,  their  pursuers  had  tracked  them,  and 
no  doubt  they  would  be  about  their  ears  in  a  few 
minutes.  Richard  and  Paul  were  bathed  in  perspira- 
tion, and  there  were  still  thirty  led  horses  to  be 
driven  over  the  bridge. 

"  I  hear  a  trumpet  behind  us,"  said  one  of  the 
men  ;  "  wouldn't  it  be  best  to  leave  the  extra  horses 
and  each  man  look  out  for  himself  .''  " 

"  No,"  said  Richard  ;  "  there  must  not  be  a  single 


196  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

horse  left  behind.  Let  no  one  ride  on  until  every 
horse  is  over." 

His  order  was  obeyed,  and  not  a  man  stirred  from 
the  spot  until  all  the  reserve  horses  were  across  the 
bridge.  By  that  time  the  trumpet  notes  were  very 
near,  and  the  white  mantles  of  the  pursuing  horse- 
men could  be  discerned  in  the  darkness.  Richard 
gave  Paul  a  whispered  order,  whereupon  the  old 
hussar  disappeared  with  two  companions.  Then  the 
bridge  was  heaped  with  dry  brushwood,  the  rest  of 
the  tar -poured  over  it,  and  the  whole  set  on  fire.  As 
the  flames  shot  upward  the  one  band  of  horsemen 
could  see  the  other,  face  to  face.  Richard  swung 
himself  into  his  saddle,  and  ordered  his  men  to  move 
forward,  carefully,  over  the  narrow  dike  and  down 
the  ravine.  He  himself  remained  behind  until  all  had 
preceded  him. 

The  cuirassiers  did  not  reach  the  mill  in  a  body, 
having  become  greatly  scattered  in  the  course  of 
their  hot  pursuit.  Otto  Palvicz,  however,  was  in  the 
lead,  his  full-blooded  stallion  being  best  able  to  stand 
the  strain  of  the  twenty  hours'  continuous  chase.  With 
him  were  but  a  score  of  his  men,  and  there  was  no 
telling  how  long  the  others  might  be  in  joining  him  ; 
yet  he  spurred  his  horse  on  as  if  he  would  have 
crossed  the  burning  bridge.  The  animal,  however, 
would  not  be  driven  into  the  fire. 

"  Captain  Richard  Baradlay  !  "  shouted  Palvicz. 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  1 9/ 

"Here  I  am,  Major  Otto  Palvicz,"  came  back  the 
answer. 

"  Surrender  yourself  my  prisoner  ! " 

"  Come  over  and  get  me  !  " 

"I  will,  all  in  good  time,  you  may  depend  upon 
it." 

"But  not  to-night." 

"  Yes,  to-night.  I  sha'n't  halt  till  I  have  caught 
you." 

"But  you  can't  cross  the  broken  dike." 

"  It  won't  delay  us  more  than  an  hour.  By  that 
time  we  shall  be  across  and  at  your  heels  again.  You 
can't  escape  me," 

"We'll  see  about  that." 

During  this  dialogue  a  rushing  of  water  became 
audible  from  the  direction,  of  the  fish-pond,  and  Otto 
Palvicz  noticed  that  an  added  flood  was  pouring 
through  the  break  in  the  dike  and  widening  the 
rupture. 

"  I  have  had  the  fish-pond  sluices  raised,"  said 
Richard,  "  and  you  will  hardly  fill  in  this  gap  in  an 
hour's  time." 

Otto  Palvicz  saw  that  the  other  was  right.  "  I  see 
that  I  cannot  cross  immediately,"  he  admitted  ;  "but 
if  you  are  a  cavalier,  stay  where  you  are  and  let  us 
fight  it  out  over  fire  and  water.  Will  you  join  me 
in  a  pistol  duel  .-*  " 

"  With  all  my  heart." 


198  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"  We  will  fire  at  each  other  until  one  of  us  falls 
from  his  horse." 

"  Agreed ;  but  first  let  our  men  get  out  of  range. 
Why  shoot  down  our  brave  lads  instead  of  each 
other  } " 

"You  are  right,"  assented  Otto,  and  he  ordered 
his  men  to  stand  aside. 

The  two  leaders  stood  facing  each  other  across  the 
burning  bridge,  whose  flames  furnished  a'  bright 
light  for  a  nocturnal  duel.  Each  wore  a  white 
cavalry  cloak,  an  excellent  target  for  his  opponent's 
aim. 

They  exchanged  a  couple  of  shots.  Palvicz  pierced 
Richard's  shako,  he  himself  receiving  a  shot  in  the 
cuirass  which  left  a  dent. 

"  Load  again  !  "  cried  Otto. 

But  at  that  moment  the  water  from  the  fish-pond, 
whose  sluices  had  been  thrown  wide  open  by  old 
Paul,  came  rushing  over  the  dike  in  such  a  volume  as 
entirely  to  submerge  the  burning  bridge  and  leave 
the  duellists  in  darkness.  Indeed,  they  were  forced 
to  seek  safety  from  the  rising  flood  in  precipitate 
flight. 

"To-morrow  we'll  at  it  again,"  called  out  the  cui- 
rassier major. 

"I'll  be  with  you,"  answered  the  captain  of  hussars. 

What  had  been  a  fiery  Phlegethon  before,  now 
became  an  inky   Styx,  likely  to  delay  the  pursuers 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  1 99 

for  half  a  day.  Meanwhile  the  fugitives  had  only  to 
push  on  as  rapidly  as  possible.  The  whole  region, 
however,  was  aroused,  aiul  in  the  first  village  they 
reached  they  could  get  no  provisions  for  themselves 
or  fodder  for  their  horses. 

"You  are  deserters  and  bent  on  mischief,"  the 
people  said  to  them,  and  they  were  forced  to  ride  on 
with  their  hunger  unabated. 

Coming  to  a  bridge,  they  were  met  by  a  rude 
company  of  rustic  militia,  armed  with  scythes. 

"  Shall  we  do  as  we  did  at  the  St.  Bridget 
Convent .'' "  the  hussars  asked  their  captain. 

"  No,  that  is  out  of  the  question  here,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "we  must  avoid  a  fight  with  the  peasantry." 

He  well  knew  that  a  couple  of  volleys  from  their 
pistols  would  have  cleared  the  bridge  ;  but  he  chose 
instead  to  make  a  detour  that  cost  them  two  hours  of 
precious  time,  being  resolved  to  avoid  all  bloodshed 
until  he  should  reach  his  own  country. 

And  still  not  a  bite  to  eat.  Everything  eatable 
was  hidden  on  their  approach.  Toward  noon,  how- 
ever, they  came  to  a  little  inn  where  they  obtained  a 
loaf  of  bread  and  a  little  brandy.  Richard  himself 
cut  up  the  loaf  into  as  many  pieces  as  there  were  men, 
and  served  it  out  to  his  followers  as  if  it  had  been  the 
Lord's  supper.  A  mouthful  of  bread  and  a  swallow 
of  brandy,  —  that  was  their  dinner. 

In  the  afternoon  they  reached  a  second  mill,  and 


200  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

here  the  miller  was  in  the  act  of  grinding  some  buck- 
wheat. Eldorado  !  A  feast  fit  for  Lucullus  !  Stira- 
bout for  every  man,  a  bellyful  !  True,  neither  drip- 
ping nor  bacon  was  to  be  had  ;  but  never  mind  ;  it 
would  taste  so  good  even  without. 

The  hussars  unsaddled  their  horses,  and,  while 
some  of  the  men  turned  blacksmiths  and  looked  to 
the  shoeing  of  their  steeds,  the  rest  betook  them- 
selves to  the  kitchen,  where,  in  an  immense  kettle 
hanging  over  the  fire,  something  was  being  cooked 
with  much  stirring  and  pouring  in  of  water,  until  the 
whole  was  of  a  uniform  and  proper  consistency.  The 
technical  name  of  this  dish  is  "stirabout." 

Meanwhile  Richard  had  stationed  outposts  to  guard 
against  a  surprise  from  the  enemy. 

When  the  mush  was  done,  a  pole  was  put  through 
the  handle  of  the  kettle,  twelve  cavalry  cloaks  were 
spread  out  on  the  grass,  and  on  them  the  steaming 
food,  which  would  not  have  tempted  even  a  wolf's 
hunger  in  its  then  scalding  condition,  was  served 
with  a  great  wooden  spoon.  But  just  as  the  ban- 
cjueters  were  about  to  sit  down  around  the  white 
cloaks  which  did  duty  as  table-cloths  and  plates  in 
one,  the  outposts  came  running  in  with  the  cry : 
"  The  cuirassiers  are  coming  !  " 

To  saddle  and  mount,  first  folding  up  the  cloaks, 
stirabout  and  all,  and  throwing  them  over  the  pom- 
mels, was  the  work  of ''a  moment.     There  was  not 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  20I 

even  time  to  take  one  taste  of  the  savoury  mess  before 
the  men  were  up  and  away  as  fast  as  their  horses 
could  carry  them.  Without  pausing  to  choose  his 
path,  Richard  galloped  across  country,  over  stock  and 
stubble,  taking  care  only  to  hold  his  horse's  head 
toward  the  east,  and  spurring  on  his  headlong  flight 
until  the  sweat  ran  from  the  animal's  flanks. 

"We  shall  kill  all  our  horses,"  remarked  old  Paul, 
as  he  pressed  hard  after  his  master  and  glanced  back 
at  the  ragged  line  of  cavalry  behind  him.  Some  of 
the  horses,  indeed,  broke  down  under  this  terrific 
pace,  whereupon  the  extra  mounts  were  brought  into 
service.  It  was  well  they  had  not  been  left  behind  at 
the  mill-dam. 

The  pursuers  were  in  no  better  plight.  On  the 
highway  it  had  been  easy  for  them  to  overtake 
the  fugitives,  as  the  latter  were  forced  to  make 
numerous  detours ;  but  when  they  took  to  ttie 
ploughed  fields  it  was  a  different  matter.  Richard 
had  been  right  in  his  reckoning ;  in  the  soft  and 
spongy  soil  the  heavy  cuirassiers  could  proceed 
only  at  a  walk,  while  the  hussars  were  able  to  push 
forward  at  a  trot. 

Richard  fell  back  and  remained  in  the  rear  to  hold 
all  his  men  together,  and  when  any  of  them  met  with 
an  accident  he  was  prompt  to  lend  his  aid.  Thus  he 
again  came  within  earshot  of  Otto  Palvicz.  Glancing 
back   from  time  to   time,   he  *llowed  the  cuirassier 


202  THE   BARON'S   SONS. 

major  to  come  near  enough  to  make  conversation 
possible, 

"  Stop  a  moment  ;  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  called 
Palvicz. 

"I  can  hear  you  very  well  as  I  am,"  answered 
Baradlay. 

"  If  you  are  a  brave  man,  don't  run  away  from  me 
like  that." 

"  I  am  brave  enough  to  run  away  so  that  you'll 
never  catch  me." 

"That  is  cowardice.  You  are  showing  me  your 
back." 

"  I  shall  have  a  look  at  yours  one  of  these  days," 

"  Will  you  stop  and  fight  with  me  .''  " 

"  No  ;  while  we  fought  your  men  would  overtake 
mine." 

"  They  will  do  that  in  any  case.  Do  you  see 
yonder  line  of  willows }  Just  beyond  it  lies  the 
March." 

"  I  know  that." 

"  You  will  be  stopped  by  the  river." 

"The  Danube  did  not  stop  us." 

This  dialogue  was  carried  on  very  comfortably  by 
the  two  riders,  who  were  distant  from  each  other  only 
three  horse's  lengths,  an  interval  which  Richard  took 
good  care  not  to  let  his  pursuer  diminish. 

On  reaching  the  willows  that  marked  the  course  of 
the  March,  the  hussars  halted. 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  203 

"See  there,"  cried  Palvicz  ;  "your  men  don't  dare 
take  the  plunge." 

"  I'll  make  them  change  their  minds  in  a  moment," 
answered  the  other. 

"  Are  you  mad  .''  Both  riders  and  horses  will  meet 
their  death  if  you  lead  them,  heated  as  they  are,  into 
the  ice-cold  water." 

"  If  they  meet  their  death  I  shall  share  the  same 
fate." 

So  saying,  Richard  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
galloped  forward,  Palvicz  close  at  his  heels.  Presently 
they  came  to  a  stretch  of  turf  where  their  two  noble 
steeds  had  a  good  footing.  Palvicz  was  only  two 
horse's  lengths  behind  when  Richard  climbed  the 
willow-covered  river-bank.  The  hussar  officer  had 
two  seconds  to  spare.  He  used  one  of  them  to 
survey  the  danger  from  which  his  men  were  recoiling. 
The  March  was  swollen  by  the  autumn  rains,  and  its 
foaming,  turbid  waters  went  racing  by  in  an  angry 
tumult.  The  next  moment  he  called  to  his  men  to 
follow  him,  and  sprang  from  the  high  bank  into  the 
flood,  while  his  pursuer  drew  rein  with  a  cry  of 
astonishment.  An  instant  later  horse  and  rider  came 
again  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  which  had  closed 
foaming  over  their  heads,  and  Richard  called  to  his 
enemy  with  a  laugh  :  "  Now  follow  me  if  you  can  !  " 

At  that  the  whole  squadron  of  hussars  plunged 
with  a  deafening  shout  into  the  boiling  current,  and 


204  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

followed  their  leader.  Otto  Palvicz  stood  looking  at 
them  in  amazement  as  they  battled  with  the  waves 
and  perhaps  he  was  even  moved  with  fear  lest  the 
gallant  band  should  come  to  grief.  But  they  all,  to 
a  man,  gained  the  farther  bank,  unharmed  by  their 
icy  bath  ;  they  were  rather  refreshed  and  invigorated 
by  it.  The  cuirassiers,  however,  did  not  venture 
after  them.  Their  leader  was  forced  to  desist  from 
further  pursuit. 

"We  shall  meet  again,  Baradlay,"  he  shouted 
across  the  river. 

"  All  right  ;  any  time  you  please,"  returned  Richard. 

Dripping  water  at  every  step,  and  soaked  to  the 
skin,  the  hussars  continued  their  journey.  It  was 
well  for  them  that  they  did  not  pause  even  for  a 
breathing-spell  in  their  wet  condition  :  the  cold 
autumn  air  would  have  served  them  an  ill  turn  had 
they  done  so. 

A  meadow  lay  before  them,  in  which  the  horses 
sank  to  their  fetlocks  in  the  mud.  Yet  it  was  a 
matter  of  stern  necessity  to  push  on.  Both  the  leader 
and  his  followers  knew  that  unless  men  and  horses 
found  food  and  shelter  that  night,  they  would  all  be 
likely  to  perish.  For  two  days  and  nights  they  had 
not  closed  their  eyes,  and  a  good  night's  sleep,  with 
one  full  meal,  seemed  indispensable  if  they  were  to 
gain  strength  for  what  yet  lay  before  them. 

"  If  the  good  God  would  only  lead  us  to  a  village  !  " 


THROUGFI  FIRE   AND    WATER.  205 

was  the  prayer  of  many  a  young  hussar.  But  their 
prayers  met  with  an  ill  response.  They  had  prayed 
for  some  snug  little  village,  and  they  came  to  a  city 
instead.  Gaining  a  hilltop,  they  suddenly  beheld  in 
the  valley  before  them  a  pretty  town  with  six  church- 
spires.  Their  prayer  had  been  more  than  answered. 
The  town  was  girt  with  a  wall,  after  the  old  German 
custom,  and  it  seemed  unwise  to  trust  themselves 
within  its  embrace.  A  road  led  around  it,  to  be 
sure,  but  was  commanded  by  a  high-walled  building 
that  looked,  to  the  experienced  eye,  suspiciously 
like  cavalry  barracks.  A  reconnoissance  seemed 
^hazardous  where  every  eye  was  on  the  watch  for  the 
fugitives ;  therefore,  they  were  forced  to  retire  to 
the  woods  they  had  just  left,  and  wait  for  night.  Yet 
they  feared  to  tarry  too  long,  well  knowing  that 
Palvicz  would  send  a  messenger  across  the  river  by 
boat  to  notify  the  garrison  commander  of  their 
presence  in  the  neighbourhood. 

At  nightfall  the  uncertainty  of  the  hussars  was 
dispelled.  A  bugle  sounded  its  familiar  note  from 
the  barracks,  and  the  horses  pricked  up  their  ears. 
That  well-known  ''trarara  trarara  "  had  always  meant 
to  them  that  their  masters  were  bringing  oats  for 
the  night  and  spreading  straw  for  their  beds.  But 
no  such  good  luck  this  time.  The  fanfare  was  heard 
four  times,  —  once  at  each  corner  of  the  wall,  —  and 
when   the  trumpets  became   silent   a  roll   of  drums 


206  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

followed.     All  this  indicated  to   the    listeners   that 
troops  were  quartered  in  the  town. 

To  make  a  detour  and  avoid  both  town  and  bar- 
racks was  impossible  ;  horses  and  riders  would  have 
perished  in  the  swamp.  But  go  on  they  must  in 
some  way ;  it  was  out  of  the  cjuestion  to  bivouac 
in  the  open  air  that  cold  autumn  night.  Yet  which 
way  were  they  to  turn } 

Possibly  the  reader  may  wonder  that  two  hundred 
and  twenty  Hungarian  hussars,  those  centaurs  of 
modern  mythology,  should  have  even  stopped  to  ask 
such  a  question,  so  long  as  they  held  their  good 
swords  in  their  hands.  But  consider,  dear  reader,  t 
that  these  hussars  had  not  slept  for  two  nights,  or 
eaten  anything  since  the  preceding  day  ;  that  their 
horses  were  worn  out,  their  clothes  wet  through,  and 
their  limbs  chilled  and  stiffened  by  the  autumn  frost. 
Military  men  k;iow  only  too  well  how  many  battles 
have  been  lost  because  of  empty  stomachs.  Many  a 
brave  army  that  has  marched  out  as  if  to  subdue  the 
world  has  been  routed  in  the  end  by  a  despised  and  in- 
ferior enemy,  simply  because  the  latter  had  eaten  a  good 
dinner  before  the  battle  and  the  other  side  had  not. 

At  last  help  came  from  an  unexpected  source,  — ■ 
from  that  cold  and  penetrating  dampness  of  which 
the  shivering  riders  were  so  bitterly  complaining. 
Such  a  dense  mist  arose  and  spread  over  the  land- 
scape that  one  could  not  see  twenty  steps  ahead, 


THROÜGlf  FIRE   AND    WATER.  20/ 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Captain  Baradlay,  turning  with 
satisfaction  to  his  men,  "we  will  play  a  capital  joke 
on  yonder  good  people.  Let  every  man  tear  up  his 
saddle-cloth  and  bind  his  horse's  hoofs  with  the  rags  ; 
then  we  will  start." 

The  men  soon  guessed  his  plan,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  were  ready  for  further  orders.  They  left 
the  woods  and  rode  silently  along  the  highway,  unable 
to  see  ahead,  but  each  man  following  his  nose.  Not 
a  soul  was  abroad  at  that  time  of  night,  all  good  citi- 
zens being  long  since  in  bed  and  asleep. 

Suddenly  the  night  watch  called  the  hour,  —  eleven  ; 
and  then  a  lantern  appeared  and  seemed  to  be  draw- 
ing nearer.  Advancing  until  they  were  within  fifty 
paces  of  this  light,  they  halted,  and  then  the  watch- 
man called  again:  "Eleven  o'clock  and  all's  well!" 
If  he  saw  the  silent  riders,  he  took  them  for  ghosts 
wending  their  noiseless  way  through  the  mist.  Here 
and  there  they  passed  a  window  that  showed  a  candle 
still  burning.  The  dogs  bayed  at  the  mysteriously 
moving  forms,  and  the  riders  greatly  feared  the  people 
would  be  aroused  by  their  barking.  The  critical  mo- 
ment, however,  was  yet  to  come.  Where  the  main 
street  left  the  town  stood  a  little  building  for  the 
receipt  of  customs,  and  here,  too,  it  was  but  natural 
to  expect  a  guard.  That  one  was  there  soon  became 
evident.  When  the  hussafs  had  approached  within  a 
few  hundred  paces  of  the  spot,  they  heard  the  signal 


208  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

for  changing  the  watch,  followed  by  the  sound  of 
approaching  cavalry. 

"  It  must  be  a  whole  troop,"  muttered  Paul,  as  the 
steps  drew  near. 

"  They  are  coming  straight  toward  us,"  whispered 
Richard.      "  Draw  your  swords  !  " 

There  seemed  no  other  course  left  them  but  to 
fight  their  way  through.  The  advancing  horsemen, 
however,  were  presently  heard  to  turn  aside  and  pass 
down  another  street.     The  danger  was  averted. 

Richard  now  led  his  men  forward  in  silence,  and 
the  whole  squadron  rode  through  the  gateway  and 
out  of  the  town  under  the  very  nose  of  the  sentry, 
who  doubtless  mistook  the  hussars  in  the  darkness 
and  mist  for  his  own  comrades.  Their  number  must 
have  caused  him  some  surprise  ;  but  by  the  time  his 
suspicions  were  communicated  to  the  sergeant-major, 
two  hours  later,  and  the  matter  reported  to  the  com- 
mandant an  hour  after  that,  Richard  and  his  men 
were  far  on  their  way. 

"Now,  my  lads,"  said  Richard,  when  that  danger 
was  safely  past,  "  you  may  light  your  pipes  and  undo 
the  rags  from  your  horses'  hoofs." 

The  success  of  the  ruse  had  put  his  men  in  the 
best  of  humours,  and  even  the  horses  seemed  to  share 
their  riders'  feelings  ;  for  they  struck  out  with  as 
much  spirit  as  if  they  had'  but  just  left  their  stalls. 
The  firm   highway  was   such  a   relief  to  the  riders. 


THROUGH  FIRE  AND    WATER.  209 

after  struggling  through  bogs  and  marshes,  that  they 
made  good  progress.  At  length  the  road  led  up  into 
the  mountains,  and  when  the  sun  rose  they  saw  be- 
fore them,  as  the  mist  rolled  away,  the  lofty  peaks  of 
the  Carpathians,  beyond  which  lay  home  and  friends. 

A  mountain  hamlet  received  the  weary  riders  with 
friendly  welcome  and  sympathy.  Old  and  young, 
men  and  women,  all  had  a  kind  word  for  them,  and 
hastened  to  throw  open  their  houses  and  their  gran- 
aries, ^he  horses  were  soon  standing  knee-deep  in 
hay,  while  the  peasants  lent  their  aid  in  shoeing  such 
as  needed  to  be  shod,  and  in  mending  broken  har- 
ness. All  that  the  good  people  had  —  and  they  were 
not  people  of  much  means  —  was  placed  before  the 
hungry  men  for  their  refreshment. 

"  Ah,  this  will  be  a  different  kind  of  dinner  from 
yesterday's,"  said  one  hussar  to  another,  as  they 
watched  the  preparations.  But  their  exultation  was 
premature.  Before  the  baking  and  boiling  were  half 
done,  the  outposts  came  galloping  in,  shouting  that 
the  pursuers  w^ere  in  sight. 

The  soldiers  whom  the  hussars  had  so  cunningly 
tricked  the  night  before  were  now  bent  on  getting 
even  with  them.  Infantry  in  wagons,  and  a  troop  of 
cavalry  riding  ahead,  were  making  the  best  of  their 
way  after  the  fugitives.  Nor,  indeed,  was  it  any 
remarkable  achievement- to  overtake  the  weary  hus- 
sars on  their  worn-out  horses. 


2IO  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

Again  the  order  was  given  to  mount  and  away. 
The  men  were  disposed  to  grumble. 

"  Let  us  stay  where  we  are  and  fight  it  out," 
they  cried.  "  We'll  either  beat  them  back,  or  fall 
in  our  tracks." 

Indeed,  there  seemed  at  first  no  choice  in  the 
matter.  The  cavalry  was  upon  them  in  the  rear, 
while  the  infantry  was  making  a  detour,  in  order  to 
lie  in  ambush  in  a  grove  just  beyond  the  village, 
where  they  would  try  to  check  the  farther  flight  of 
the  deserters.  In  all  probability  the  enemy  would 
reach  the  grove  before  the  hussars,  as  the  latter  had 
their  horses  still  to  saddle. 

Meanwhile  Richard  had  made  a  hasty  reconnois- 
sance.  To  fight  their  way  through  the  infantry 
in  front  would,  he  felt  convinced,  result  in  heavy 
loss  to  his  men,  while  the  cavalry  in  their  rear  would 
be  constantly  harassing  them  until  they  were  entirely 
destroyed.  Not  a  single  hussar  would  live  to  see  his 
home.  Such  a  needless  sacrifice  was  to  be  avoided 
if  possible.  One  other  way  was  open,  —  a  steep  path 
leading  up  the  mountainside  toward  its  snow-capped 
summit. 

"  Is  there  a  path  over  the  mountain,  and  can  we 
get  a  guide  to  show  us  the  way }  "  asked  Richard, 
of  an  old  shepherd. 

"There  is  a  path,"  he  replied,  "and  if  you  wish 
I  will  show  you  the  way  until  I  can  hand  you  over 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  211 

to  another  guide.  You  need  fear  no  pursuit,  if  you 
choose  that  path,  but  you  are  hkely  to  perish  of 
hunger." 

"We'll  try  it,  nevertheless,"  returned  Richard. 

The  men  were  mounted  by  this  time,  and  drawn 
up,  sword  in  hand.  The  order  was  given  to  sheath 
their  swords  and  right  wheel. 

"  Where  are  we  going  1  "  cried  the  hussars,  in  a 
storm  of  disapproval.  "  Up  the  mountainside  }  We 
will  go  to  hell  first  !  " 

Richard  drew  his  pistols.  "  Whoever  has  forgotten 
his  oath  had  best  commit  his  soul  to  God,"  said  he 
sternly.  The  angry  murmurs  were  hushed.  "  Those 
who  still  have  faith  in  me  will  follow.  I  am  going 
ahead." 

The  swords  went  rattling  into  their  scabbards. 
The  guide,  equipped  with  alpenstock  and  climbing 
irons,  led  the  way,  Richard  followed  him,  and  the 
hussars  came  trailing  behind,  with  old  Paul  as  rear 
guard. 

The  enemy,  after  waiting  an  hour  for  the  fugitives 
to  make  a  sally  from  the  village,  pulled  some  very 
long  faces  when  they  caught  sight  of  them,  high  up  on 
the  mountainside,  following  in  single  file  a  steep 
path  along  the  face  of  the  cliff.  Never  before  had 
horse's  hoof  trodden  that  perilous  path  ;  it  was  so 
narrow  that  both  steed  and  rider  were  in  constant 
danger  of  being  hurled  into  the  mountain  stream  that 


2  12  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

ran  foaming  a  hundred  fathoms  below.  One  false 
step  or  an  attack  of  giddiness  would  have  been  fatal. 

Amazement  was  followed  by  anger  on  the  part  of 
the  pursuers.  They  had  no  desire  to  give  chase, 
but,  to  prevent  their  intended  victims'  escape  without 
a  scratch,  they  discharged  their  rifles  at  them.  Their 
pieces  had  a  range  of  a  thousand  paces,  and  the 
target  could  not  have  been  better,  —  dark  blue  uni- 
forms against  a  white  limestone  background.  The 
rifle-balls  rebounded  from  the  cliff,  so  that  each  one 
went  whistling  twice  by  the  hussars'  ears  —  as  if  their 
position  had  not  been  already  sufficiently  perilous. 

Yet  in  that  hour  of  danger  the  horsemen  sat  half 
asleep  in  their  saddles,  with  nodding  heads  and  droop- 
ing eyelids.  Only  Richard  in  the  van  and  old  Paul 
in  the  rear  were  still  on  the  alert,  and  kept  calling 
to  their  comrades  to  wake  up.  A  turn  in  the  path 
presently  led  the  riders  out  of  range,  and  there 
was  no  further  cause  to  fear  molestation.  A  fir 
grove,  as  sombre  and  still  as  a  cathedral,  received 
them  in  its  shelter.  Here  the  starving  men  unearthed 
a  store  of  turnips  that  had  been  deposited  there  for 
feeding  sheep.  It  was  not  an  inviting  dish  to  human 
palates ;  but  hunger  like  theirs  is  not  squeamish, 
and  they  were  only  too  glad  to  feed  on  the  coarse 
provender.  They  wished  to  rest  in  the  grove,  but 
their  guide  spurred  them  on  once  more ;  pleasant 
weather  was  too  precious  to  be  wasted  in  that  region, 


THKOUGII  FIRE   AND    WATER.  213 

where  fog  and  darkness  would  be  sure  to  afford  them 
all  the  time  they  needed  for  repose. 

Forward,  then,  as  long  as  horse  and  rider  were  able 
to  move ! 

In  the  afternoon  the  hussars  came  to  a  shepherd's 
hut,  where  their  guide  committed  his  charge  to  the 
care  of  the  occupant  of  the  little  shanty,  and  himself 
returned  to  the  village.  Finding  a  few  trusses  of  hay, 
Richard  and  his  men  bought  them  for  their  horses. 
But  was  there  nothing,  they  asked,  which  might  serve 
to  stay  a  hungry  man's  stomach .''  The  sheep  were 
feeding  below  in  the  valley,  and  it  was  too  late  to  go 
after  them.  There  was,  however,  a  tub  of  sheep's 
milk  that  had  been  set  away  to  curdle  for  cheese ;  it 
was  not  an  appetising  drink,  to  be  sure,  but  nourish- 
ing and  strengthening.  Each  hussar  received  half  a 
glassful. 

As  there  was  some  moonlight  that  night,  Richard 
determined  to  make  the  most  of  it,  and  the  weary 
hussars  were  forced  to  push  on.  They  had  but  just 
begun  the  really  arduous  part  of  their  journey.  The 
path  led  upward  and  was  very  steep.  The  fir  trees 
became  fewer,  and  in  their  stead  began  to  appear 
juniper  trees,  of  good,  sturdy  growth  at  first,  but  ever 
becoming  smaller,  until  at  last  they  were  no  larger 
than  bramble  bushes. 

When  the  sun  rose  over  the  mountain-tops  in  front, 
it  hung  lustreless  and  shrouded  in  mist.     The  guide 


214  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

began  to  hint  that  a  snow-storm  was  in  prospect.  All 
vegetation  disappeared  as  they  climbed  higher ;  not 
even  a  blade  of  grass  showed  itself  on  the  bare  moun- 
tainside ;  no  sign  of  man  or  beast  or  bird  greeted 
the  eye  ;  it  was  all  death's  kingdom,  a  landscape  of 
tombstones,  the  home  of  the  clouds,  whither  no  sound 
of  herdsman's  horn,  or  hunter's  rifle,  or  bell  of  sheep 
or  goat  ever  penetrated. 

Toward  noon,  as  the  hussars  were  descending  into 
a  ravine,  a  dense  mist  began  to  rise  from  below. 

"  If  it  reaches  us  we  shall  have  a  long  resting  spell," 
remarked  the  guide  to  Richard.  "  Let  us  hasten  down 
into  the  ravine,  where  there  is  brushwood  and  we  can 
at  least  make  a  fire  if  the  weather  is  bad." 

The  mist  rose  until  it  had  quite  enveloped  the  band 
of  horsemen.  The  clouds  were  returning  to  their 
domain,  and  were  asking  the  intruders  by  what  right 
they  were  there.  Their  challenge  had  to  be  heeded, 
as  it  became  thenceforth  impossible  to  see  the  way. 
The  guide  proposed  to  go  on  ahead  for  a  few  hundred 
paces,  promising  to  call  back  to  the  others  if  the  path 
proved  to  be  safe. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  anxious  waiting  followed, 
while  the  cold  mist  powdered  every  man's  beard  and 
hair  with  hoar  frost.  Still  failing  to  hear  any  call 
from  below,  Richard  descended  a  few  steps  and  shouted 
to  the  guide.  No  answer.  Hungry,  thirsty,  shiver- 
ing, the  hussars  stood  waiting. 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  2  1$ 

"  Follow  me,"  commanded  Richard,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  lead  his  men,  as  good  luck  might  guide  him, 
down  the  mountain.  All  dismounted  and  led  their 
horses  after  them.  The  fog  continued  to  wrap  them 
about  as  they  descended,  but  at  length  they  reached 
a  thick  growth  of  juniper  bushes. 

"  We  must  camp  here  for  the  night,"  declared 
Richard,  and  bade  his  men  kindle  fires. 

It  was  already  growing  dark.  Possibly  the  sun  was 
still  shining  up  on  the  heights,  but  down  there  in  the 
dense  fog  it  was  dark.  Brushwood  was  at  hand  in 
plenty,  so  that  the  hussars  were  at  least  sure  not  to 
freeze.  They  hobbled  their  horses  and  left  them. 
Fodder  there  was  none  to  give  them,  but  the  riders 
themselves  were  no  better  off. 

The  hussars  lighted  their  fires  and  gathered  about 
them,  tired  nearly  to  death  and  longing  for  one  thing 
above  all  else,  ^  sleep.  Richard  gave  orders  that  one 
man  should  remain  awake  at  each  fire  to  tend  it  ;  then 
he  wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak  and  lay  down  by  his 
fire. 

It  was  too  much  to  expect  any  one  to  keep  awake. 
The  watchers  thought  that  if  they  only  threw  on 
enough  fuel  the  fires  would  last. 

Scarcely  had  the  sleepers  had  time  to  fly  home  in 
their  dreams  and  greet  the  dear  ones  there,  when  a 
sudden  uproar  wakened  them  all  with  a  start.  It  was 
the  whinnying  of  frightened  horses,     The  thicket  had 


2l6  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

caught  fire  from  the  unguarded  watch-fires,  and  was 
one  sheet  of  flame  when  the  men  awoke. 

"  Up  the  mountain  !  "  cried  Richard,  running  to  his 
horse  and  seeking  the  nearest  way  of  escape  from  the 
spreading  sea  of  fire  that  raged  around  him. 

There  was  hght  enough  now  to  show  them  the  way 
only  too  clearly,  and  a  perilous,  breakneck  path  it 
was.  The  extremity  of  the  danger  in  their  rear,  how- 
ever, gave  to  men  and  horses  an  almost  preternatural 
strength,  and  they  accomplished  in  a  short  time  an 
ascent  that  made  them  dizzy  to  look  back  upon. 
They  stood  there  a  moment,  steaming  with  perspira- 
tion in  the  cold  night  air,  and  not  daring  to  linger. 
They  were  forced  to  push  on,  if  only  to  keep  warm. 
There  was  no  halting  for  consultation  now  ;  every 
man  made  the  best  of  his  way  forward  ;  if  any  should 
faint  by  the  way  they  would  have  to  lie  where  they 
fell. 

Day  dawned  at  last,  —  the  most  harrowing  day  of 
their  long  flight.  Ice-clad  peaks  and  fields  of  snow 
greeted  the  eye  on  every  side,  with  nothing  to  guide 
a  traveller's  course  but  the  sun  in  the  heavens.  Two 
days  had  passed  since  the  men  had  tasted  food.  They 
sought  to  quench  their  thirst  with  lumps  of  snow,  but 
only  made  matters  worse. 

One  thing,  however,  troubled  them  more  than 
hunger  or  thirst.  Their  horses  were  beginning  to 
fail  them,  falhng  exhausted,  one  after  another,  in  the 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  217 

deep  snow  ;  and  whenever  one  of  the  animals  fell,  its 
rider  stood  by  its  side,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  more 
than  half  inclined  to  lie  down  too  and  give  up  the 
fight.  But  old  Paul  would  allow  no  such  nonsense. 
Alternately  swearing  and  coaxing,  and  calling  upon 
the  saints,  he  spurred  on  the  stragglers,  helped  to 
raise  a  fallen  horse  where  help  was  of  any  avail, 
brought  up  the  reserve  horses  to  take  the  places  of 
those  left  behind,  and  infused  fresh  courage  into  all 
by  the  mere  force  of  his  example. 

"  Not  a  man  must  be  lost !  "  he  cried.  "We  shall 
soon  be  at  home  now." 

"Yes,  at  home  in  heaven,"  muttered  one  weary 
hussar  to  another. 

The  men  were  scattered  over  a  distance  of  two 
miles,  Richard  taking  the  lead  and  breaking  a  path 
through  the  deep  snow,  while  Paul  brought  up  the 
rear.  It  was  almost  a  miracle  that  their  strength 
still  held  out.  Their  clothes  were  frozen  stiff,  and 
their  swords  had  become  a  grievous  burden  to  them. 
The  horses'  girths  flapped  loosely  against  their  sides, 
their  shoes  had  fallen  off,  and  their  hoofs  were  torn 
and  bruised.  And  no  one  could  tell  when  or  how  or 
where  it  would  all  end. 

One  last  trial  was  in  store  for  the  weary  fugitives : 
in  the  afternoon  a  dense  snow-storm  met  them  in  the 
face.  Should  Richard  lead  his  men  by  any  mischance 
into  a  ravine  that  offered  no  outlet,  they  would  all  be 


21  8  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

lost.  Occasional  avalanches  came  sliding  clown  the 
steep  cliffs,  threatening  to  bury  men  and  horses.  Yet 
they  did  not  quite  lose  heart.  The  terrors  of  their 
situation  had  not  yet  extinguished  the  spark  of 
hope. 

Evening  was  again  approaching  when  Richard 
noted  that  for  some  time  they  had  been  descending. 
Before  long  a  well-grown  fir  grove  loomed  up  ahead 
and  proved  a  grateful  asylum  to  the  wanderers.  The 
wind  blew  through  the  tree-tops  with  the  sound  of 
some  giant  organ,  but  above  its  tones  Richard  heard 
what  was  the  sweetest  of  music  to  his  ears,  —  the 
sound  of  a  woodman's  axe.  Human  beings  and 
human  habitations  were  near.  Taking  a  few  of  his 
men,  the  hussar  captain  hastened  in  the  direction  of 
the  sound,  and  soon  came  upon  a  wood-chopper  cut- 
ting the  branches  from  a  tree  he  had  just  felled. 
Richard  called  to  him  in  the  Moravian  tongue. 

"  Bless  the  Lord  !  "  answered  the  wood-chopper  in 
Hungarian,  whereupon  the  hussars  nearly  smothered 
him  with  kisses  and  embraces.  Then  they  threw 
themselves  down  on  their  faces  in  the  snow  and 
gave  thanks  for  their  deliverance  from  danger. 
Yes,  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting ! 

The  wood-chopper  told  them  they  were  expected 
in  the  village  yonder,  only  a  short  distance  down  the 
mountain.     Word  of  their  approach  had  already  been 


THROUGH  FIRE   AND    WATER.  219 

brought  by  the  guide,  who  had  left  them  and  hurried 
on  ahead  to  summon  help. 

The  snow  ceased,  and  as  the  veil  of  clouds  was 
drawn  aside  a  view  was  given  of  what  the  hussars 
had  come  so  far  to  see,  —  the  fair  land  of  Hungary. 

At  the  base  of  the  mountain  lay  a  little  market- 
town,  reached  by  a  winding  road  up  which,  with  flags 
and  music,  a  glad  procession  was  now  marching  to 
welcome  the  home-coming  hussars.  Hearing  the 
band  and  seeing  the  banners  from  afar,  Richard  and 
his  companions  fired  their  pistols  as  a  signal  to  their 
slower  comrades,  who  presently  came  up  with  them. 
All  were  there,  — not  a  man  missing.  Dressing  their 
ranks,  the  horsemen  waited  to  receive  the  procession. 
What  occurred  when  it  reached  them  is  more  than 
the  present  generation  of  readers  can  be  asked  to 
picture  to  themselves. 

A  banquet  had  been  sjoread  for  the  home-coming 
heroes,  and  after  partaking  of  it  generously,  the  toil- 
worn  but  happy  hussars,  who  had  not  slept  for  six 
nights,  danced  through  the  seventh  until  broad 
daylight. 

All  this  is  no  piece  of  fiction,  no  picture  of  the  ^,  ^ 
imagination.  A  young  hussar,  now  a  veteran  of  (  J  T 
many  wars,  wrote  it  all  down  in  his  diary  as  it  '  y^ 
occurred,  and  is  to-day  ready  to  take  oath  that 
it  is  every  word  true  as  here  described. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


TIMELY    AID. 


Meanwhile  the  Hungarian  army  had  advanced  to 
meet  the  enemy ;  but  being  ill  officered  and  poorly 
di'illed,  with  no  experience  whatever  of  actual  fight- 
ing, it  was  easily  routed.  The  Austrians  had  but  to 
sweep  the  highway  with  their  twelve-pounders,  and 
the  opposing  centre  gave  way  at  once.  It  was  a 
shameful  defeat  :  all  turned  tail  and  ran  before  the 
enemy  ;  and  when  the  Congreve  rockets  were  sent, 
ricochetting,  hissing,  and  spitting  fire,  to  explode 
among  the  panic-stricken  fugitives,  the  chaos  became 
complete. 

On  such  trying  occasions,  one  man  with  his  nerves 
under  control  is  invaluable.  Odon  Baradlay  was  no 
soldier,  no  born  tactician,  but  he  possessed  that  first 
requisite  of  success  in  any  calling,  self-control.  As 
soon  as  he  saw  that  the  battle  was  going  against  his 
countrymen,  although  his  place  was  in  the  rear  as 
Q^mmissary-general,  he  threw  himself  on  his  horse 
and  made  an  attempt  to  save  the  day.  To  rally  the 
fugitives,  demoralised  as  .they  were  by  the  bursting  of 


TIMELY  AID.  221 

shells  on  every  side,  was  hopeless.  Along  the  high- 
way he  saw  advancing  a  troop  of  the  enemy's  cavalry, 
sweeping  everything  before  it. 

"Let  us  give  them  something  to  do,"  said  he  to 
himself,  scanning  the  fleeing  troops  in  quest  of  a  few 
young  men  who  might  respond  to  his  call.  "  Look 
here,  boys,"  he  shouted,  "shall  we  let  the  enemy 
capture  all  our  cannon  without  our  striking  a  blow .-' " 

A  little  knot  of  sturdy  lads  paused  in  their  flight 
at  this  call.  They  were  only  common  soldiers,  but 
they  shouted  to  one  another  :  "  Let  us  die  for  our 
country ! "  and  therewith  faced  about  against  the 
cavalry  that,  came  charging  down  upon  them. 

Suddenly  help  appeared  from  an  unexpected  quar- 
ter :  out  of  the  acacia  hedge  that  lined  the  highway 
such  a  raking  fire  was  opened  upon  the  cavalry  that 
it  was  thrown  into  disorder  and  forced  to  beat  a  hasty 
retreat,  leaving  the  road  strewn  with  its  dead  and 
wounded.  With  loud  huzzas  there  now  sprang  out 
from  behind  the  hedge  the  Death's-Head  Legion,  its 
leader,  the  long-legged  Mausmann,  waving  his  hat 
and  calling  to  Ödön  :  "  Hurrah,  patron  !  That's 
what  we  call  barricade  tactics." 

Ödön  welcomed  the  madcap  student  who  had 
saluted  him  as  "patron."  The  German  students 
regarded  him  as  their  patron,  because  he  saw  to  it 
that  they  received  as  good  care  as  the  rest  of  the 
army,  and  would  not  allow  his  countrymen  to  put  any 


222  •  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

slight  upon  them.  And  they  deserved  all  his  kind- 
ness, the  gallant  lads  ;  resolute  under  fire  and  always 
good-humoured,  they  were  ever  ready  to  fight  and 
feared  neither  death  nor  the  devil,  —  no,  nor  Con- 
greve  rockets,  for  that  matter.  They  knew  their 
foe,  too,  from  many  a  sharp  encounter  in  the  past. 
A  hundred  such  lads  were  of  untold  value  at  a  criti- 
cal moment  like  the  present. 

The  students  and  the  other  volunteers  whom  Ödön 
had  rallied  around  him  amounted  to  about  two  hun- 
dred in  all,  —  a  small  but  determined  band.  When 
the  enemy  saw  that  this  handful  of  young  men  was 
holding  the  cavalry  in  check,  they  eaused  their 
rocket-battery  to  play  upon  the  little  band  of  patriots. 
And  the  lads  took  it  for  play  indeed. 

"  Aha,  old  friend !  "  cried  Mausmann,  as  a  rocket 
came  shrieking  through  the  air.  "  See,  boys,  the 
first  has  stuck  in  the  mud  ;  up  with  a  whiz  and  down 
with  a  thud !  The  second  there  bursts  in  mid-air  ; 
the  third  comes  nearer,  but  we  don't  care.  Here 
comes  the  fourth  ;  its  course  is  straight,"  (Indeed, 
the  rocket  was  so  well  aimed  that  it  landed  in  their 
very  midst,  whereupon  Mausmann  stepped  forward, 
coolly  took  it  by  its  stick,  although  it  was  spitting 
fire  in  an  alarming  manner,  and  hurled  it  into  the 
ditch  beside  the  road,  where  it  exploded  harmlessly ; 
then  he  finished  his  rhyme.)  "It  bursts  at  last ;  too 
late,  too  late !  "     The  young  recruits  laughed  aloud. 


TIMELY  AID.  223 

Perceiving  that  their  rockets  were  effecting  noth- 
ing, the  enemy  planned  another  cavalry  charge,  this 
time  sending  a  troop  of  cuirassiers  to  open  the  road. 
The  little  company  of  patriots  drew  up,  three  deep, 
clear  across  the  highway,  and  awaited  the  assault. 
During  this  pause  Mausmann  started  the  German 
student  song  : 

"  Wer  koi)i?nt  dort  von  der  HöJi  ? 
Wer  ko7nmt  dort  von  der  Höh  ? 
Wer  kommt  dort  von  der  Höh  ? 

Sa  sa,  ledernen  Höh  — 
Wer  koninit  dort  von  der  Höh  ?  " 

His  comrades  joined  in,  and  then  with  a  loud 
hurrah  they  gave  the  oncoming  horsemen  a  volley 
from  their  rifles  at  twenty  paces  distance.  Aha ! 
how  they  broke  and  turned  tail  and  scampered  back, 
leaving  their  dead  and  wounded  behind  ! 

Then  the  gallant  band  reloaded,  shouldered  their 
pieces,  and  marched  back  to  join  their  comrades. 
But  presently  the  sound  of  approaching  cavalry  was 
again  heard  on  the  road  behind  them.  The  horsemen 
divided  to  right  and  left,  hoping  to  surround  their 
foe.  The  latter,  however,  closed  in  about  their 
leader,  and  then  faced  outward,  presenting  a  bristling 
wall  of  bayonets  on  every  side,  like  a  monstrous 
hedgehog ;  and  again  their  merry  student  song  rang 
out  defiantly.     Once  more  the  attacking  cavalry  was 


224  ^^^   BAIíON'S  SONS. 

forced  to  fall  back  before  the  lively  volleys  of  this 
determined  band,  which  seemed  ignorant  of  the  mean- 
ing of  fear,  and  proof  against  all  modes  of  assault. 
Its  method  was  to  let  the  enemy  advance  until  a  rifle- 
volley  w^as  sure  to  do  the  most  execution.  The 
student  song  had  many  stanzas,  one  for  each  attack 
from  the  pursuing  cavalry  ;  it  was  sung  to  the  end, 
and  the  enemy  repulsed  at  each  onset.  The  slightly 
wounded  bound  up  their  wounds,  while  those  who  had 
fared  the  worst  were  laid  across  their  comrades'  rifle- 
barrels  and  so  carried  along,  marking  their  path  with 
their  life-blood,  and  ever  shouting  hurrahs  for  the 
cause  of  liberty. 

At  last  the  cartridges  ran  low. 

"Look  here,  patron,"  said  Mausmann  to  Ödön, 
"we  have  but  one  round  of  ammunition  left,  and 
when  that  is  gone  we  are  lost.  But  there's  a  bridge 
yonder  which  we  can  easily  hold,  and  the  cavalry 
can't  get  through  the  bog  to  surround  us.  And  now, 
boys,  swear  that  you'll  save  this  last  shot,  and  from 
now  on  receive  the  enemy  with  your  bayonets." 

Thereupon  the  still  undaunted  students  knelt  on 
the  highway,  and,  with  upraised  right  hands,  sang 
an  oath  from  some  opera  chorus  —  perhaps  it  was 
from  "  Beatrice  "  —  resolved  to  play  their  parts  well 
till  the  ringing  down  of  the  curtain.  Then  they 
took  possession  of  the  bridge,  and  were  preparing  to 
receive  the  enemy's   cavalry  on  the  points   of  their 


\ÍŰ      \>)^   \jy^       TIMELY  AID. 


\Ji/\  TIMELY  AID.  22$ 

bayonets,  when  all  at  once  the  horsemen  slackened 
their  pace  and  seemed  stricken  with  a  sudden  panic. 
Out  from  the  thicket  that  bordered  the  road  broke  a 
squadron  of  hussars,  and  by  a  flank  attack  scattered 
the  cuirassiers  in  all  directions. 

The  fight  was  over  for  that  day.  The  enemy 
sounded  the  retreat,  and  the  Hungarians  were  left  to 
go  their  way  unmolested.  The  hussars  turned  back 
to  the  bridge,  led  by  their  captain,  a  tall  and  muscu- 
lar young  man  with  flashing  eyes  and  a  smile  that 
played  constantly  about  his  mouth.  Two  of  the 
young  men  on  the  bridge  recognised  that  face  and 
form.     Those  two  were  Ödön  and  Mausmann. 

"Hurrah!  Baradlay  !  Richard  Baradlay  !  "  cried 
the  student,  throwing  his  cap  high  in  the  air,  and 
rushing  to  meet  his  old  acquaintance.  In  the  warmth 
of  his  welcome  he  nearly  pulled  the  other  from  his 
horse. 

Then  Ödön  came  forward,  and  the  two  brothers, 
who  had  not  met  for  six  years,  fell  into  each  other's 
amis,  while  hussars  and  legionaries  embraced  and 
kissed  one  another,  each  with  words  of  praise  on  his 
tongue  for  the  other. 

"  Heaven  must  have  sent  you  to  us  !  "  exclaimed 
Ödön.  "  If  you  hadn't  come  when  you  did,  you 
would  have  been  by  this  time  the  head  of  the  family." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  cried  Richard.  "  But  what  are  you 
doing  here .''     The  secretary  of    war  bade   me  give 


220  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

you  a  good  scolding  for  exposing  your  life  when  you 
are  commissary -general  and  your  place  is  with  the 
transport  wagons.  You  were  not  sent  out  to  fight, 
and  you  have  a  young  wife  and  infant  children  de- 
pendent on  you.  Have  you  forgotten  them,  unfeel- 
ing man }  Just  wait  till  I  tell  mother  what  you  are 
up  to !  "  As  he  spoke  he  grew  suddenly  serious. 
"  Dear  mother  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  she  must  have  fore- 
seen this  when  she  came  to  me  and  bade  me  hasten 
hither  to  your  side." 


^    ^    ^^^^""^ 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


GREGORY  BOKSA. 


The  night  after  the  battle  Ödön  and  Richard 
passed  in  a  neighbouring  village,  and  both  were 
engaged  until  ■  morning  in  restoring  such  order  as 
they  could  among  the  defeated  troops. 

"  If  we  could  only  offer  them  something  to  eat," 
said  Richard.  "  The  smell  of  a  good  roast  would 
rally  the  men  quickly  enough." 

Yes,  but  a  good  roast  was  not  to  be  had.  The 
enemy  had  passed  through  that  village  twice,  and  had 
left  very  poor  pickings  for  those  that  came  after 
them.  Bread  was  at  hand,  as  the  provision  train  had 
been  saved,  but  meat  was  wanting. 

"  How  glad  we  should  be  now  to  see  Gregory 
Boksaj_iiur  ox-herd,  with  his  fifty  head  of  cattle !" 
exclaimed  Ödön  ;  and  a  patrol  was  sent  out  to  search 
for  the  man,  who,  it  was  thought,  might  have  found 
a  place  of  safety  for  himself  and  his  charge.  But  the 
search,  which  was  continued  until  late  in  the  evening, 
proved  fruitless.  At  length,  however.  Boksa  made 
his  appearance,  but  without  his  oxen,  and  leading 
^  227 


228  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

his  horse  behind  him.  Evidently  he  had  dismounted 
to  sliow  how  grievously  lame  he  was.  He  groaned 
and  sighed  piteously  as  he  came  limping  into  camp, 
using  his  pole-a.xe  for  a  crutch,  and  appearing  utterly 
exhausted. 

"Boksa,  what  has  happened  to  you .''  "  asked  Ödön. 

"Ah,  sir,"  moaned  the  ox-driver,  "you  may  well  ask 
what  has  happened  to  me.  A  good  deal  has  happened 
to  me.  I  am  all  done  up.  I  shall  never  again  be  the 
man  I  was.  Oh,  oh  !  ni)/  backbone  is  broken.  That 
cursed  cannon-ball !     A  big  forty-pounder  hit  me." 

Mausmann  and  his  comrades  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh  at  this. 

"  But  where  is  our  herd  of  oxen  .-• "  was  the  ques- 
tion from  every  side. 

"Ah,  if  I  only  knew!  Just  as  the  fight  was  be- 
ginning, I  took  my  knife  out  of  my  boot-leg  and 
opened  my  knapsack  to  get  my  bread  and  bacon,  and 
have  a  quiet  little  lunch,  when  all  at  once  the  Ger- 
mans began  to  blaze  away  at  me,  so  that  I  dropped 
knife,  bread,  and  bacon,  and  thought  for  sure  my  last 
hour  had  come.  Whiz  !  a  ball  grazed  by  me,  and  it 
was  a  twenty-eight  pounder,  as  sure  as  I'm  alive.  It 
was  a  chain-shot,  too,  a  couple  of  twenty-eight  pound- 
ers joined  together." 

"  You  ran  away,"  said  Ödön,  interrupting  the 
narrative,  "  we  understand  that.  But  where  are 
the  oxen  } " 


^^^U  ^^^^-^"^"^^ 


GREGORY  BOK^A.         /  229 

"  How  should  I  know,  with  cannon-balls  singing 
about  my  ears  so  that  I  couldn't  look  around  without 
losing  my  head  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  brother,"  interposed  Richard,  address- 
ing Ödön,  "that  isn't  the  way  to  handle  this  case. 
Let  me  try  my  hand.  Now,  you  cowardly  rascal, 
the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  you  ran  away  at  the  first 
shot,  and  left  your  herd  in  the  enemy's  hands.  Here, 
corporal,  fetch  out  the  flogging-bench  and  give  him 
fifty  with  the  strap." 

At  these  words  Gregory  Boksa  changed  his  limping, 
broken-backed  attitude  and  suddenly  straightened  up. 
Holding  his  head  high  and  smiting  his  chest  with  his 
clenched  fist,  he  burst  out  haughtily  : 

"  That  is  more  than  I  will  submit  to.  My  name  is 
Gregory  Boksa,  •  nobleman ;  and,  besides,  I  beg  to 
remind  the  captain  that  the  Hungarian  diet  has  done 
aivay  with  flogging,  even  for  the  common  people." 

"All  right,"  returned  Richard;  "when  you  have 
received  your  fifty  strokes  you  may  go  and  appeal  to 
the  diet.     We  are  not  legislating  now." 

The  order  was  faithfully  executed,  poor  Gregory 
bellowing  lustily  the  while,  after  which  he  was  obliged 
to  return  and  thank  the  hussar  ofificer  for  his  lesson. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Richard,  "did  the  Germans 
.shoot  forty-pounders.''" 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  replied  Boksa  humbly,  "they 
didn't  even  fire  a  pistol  at  me." 


230  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"Disarm  him,"  was  the  other's  order,  "and  set 
him  on  his  horse.  Then  let  him  go  whither  he  will. 
A  soldier  who  is  not  ashamed  to  run  away  deserves 
to  feel  the  rod  on  that  part  of  his  body  which  he 
shows  to  the  enemy." 

Stripped  of  his  sword  and  pistols  and  pole-axe,  and 
with  his  whip  hung  around  his  neck,  poor  Boksa  was 
mounted  on  his  piebald  nag  and  ignominiously  driven 
out  of  camp. 

Drawing  out  his  pipe,  he  looked  into  the  bowl, 
took  off  his  cap  and  examined  it,  and  then  inspected 
his  tobacco-pouch  ;  after  which  he  replaced  his  cap, 
pocketed  his  pipe,  closed  his  tobacco-pouch,  and  rode 
on.     Was  he  hatching  some  deep  scheme  of  revenge  } 

He  rode  back  over  the  very  road  by  which  he 
had  that  day  taken  his  flight,  —  straight  toward  the 
enemy's  camp.  Suddenly  he  was  challenged  in 
the  darkness  :  ^ 

"  Halt !     Who  goes  there  }  " 

"  Oh,  how  you  frightened  me,"  exclaimed  the  ox- 
herd.     "  I  am  a  deserter." 

The  sentinel  ordered  Boksa  to  wait  there  until  the 
patrol  came  to  lead  him  away.  Soon  a  file-leader 
appeared  with  a  common  soldier  and  received  Greg- 
ory's statement  that  he  was  a  runaway  from  the 
Hungarian  camp  and  wished  to  speak  with  the  com- 
mander. He  had  chanced  upon  the  encampment  of 
a  cavalry  regiment,  whose  colonel  was  at  the  moment 


4o  6^«M-1  ^  "^  . 

GREGORY  BOKSA.  23  I 

playing  cards  in  his  tent  with  some  of  his  officers. 
Being  told  that  a  deserter  was  outside,  waiting  to 
speak  with  him,  he  ordered  the  man  to  be  admitted. 

The  officers  became  interested  at  once  in  the 
newcomer,  who  appeared  at  the  same  time  cowardly 
and  haughty,  angry  and  humble ;  who  wore  the  look 
of  a  suppliant  and  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage,  kissed 
every  one's  hand,  and  swore  by  all  the  saints  while  he 
was  doing  it. 

"Why  did  you  desert .''  "  asked  the  colonel. 

"  Because  they  had  me  flogged  ;  me,  whose  family 
has  been  noble  for  seventy-seven  generations.  And 
then  they  took  away  my  arms,  which  cannot  lawfully 
be  taken  from  a  nobleman  even  for  debt,  and  drove 
me  out  of  the  camp  like  a  dog.  All  right !  There 
are  other  people  over  the  mountains,  and  Gregory 
Boksa  can  find  a  market  for  his  services  elsewhere." 

"And  in  what  capacity  did  you  serve  '^.  "  demanded 
the  colonel. 

"As  ox-herd." 

"As  a  non-combatant,  then.  Now  I  understand 
why  you  are  so  fierce." 

"  Oh,  I  can  handle  my  man  in  an  honest  fight," 
answered  Gregory,  "but  I'm  a  bit  put  out  where 
loud  shooting  is  going  on." 

The  officers  laughed  at  this  naive  confession. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  colonel ;  "it  so  happens  that 
we  need  a  man  now  who  can  manage  oxen.    We  have 


232  THE    BARON'S  SONS. 

captured  a  herd  from  the  enemy,  and  you  shall  have 
the  care  of  it." 

At  these  words  Gregory  Boksa  seized  the  colonel's 
hand  and  kissed  it.  "Ah,  sir,"  he  cried,  "may  the 
saints  bless  you !  You  shall  find  me  a  faithful  ser- 
vant, who  will  go  through  fire  and  water  to  serve 
you.  I'll  soon  show  you  what  an  artist  I  am"  in  my 
calling." 

Being  introduced  to  the  corporal  in  charge.  Boksa 
offered,  with  the  zeal  of  one  newly  entering  upon  a 
responsible  position,  to  take  up  his  quarters  for  the 
night  among  his  oxen,  with  his  good  horse  at  his  side. 
Surelyj  when  one  is  hired  to  discharge  certain  duties 
he  must  discharge  them  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 
He  had  a  good  thick  cloak  to  wrap  himself  in,  and, 
besides,  he  could  smoke  if  he  chose,  out  there  in  the 
open  air,  —  a  solace  that  would  be  denied  him  if  he 
passed  the  night  in  the  stable. 

Accordingly  the  zealous  ox-herd  was  given  per- 
mission to  lie  down  with  his  oxen  if  he  wished. 
Gregory  Boksa  first  ascertained  the  direction  of  the 
wind,  that  he  might  choose  his  position  with  the  herd 
to  leeward  ;  and  after  rehearsing  his  grievances 
once  more  to  the  adjutant  and  the  corporal  and  as 
many  others  as  would  listen  to  him,  he  wrapped  him- 
self in  his  mantle  and  bade  them  all  good  night. 
They  laughed  heartily  at  the  poor  man,  even  while 
they  gave  him  their  assurances  of  sympathy  ;  but  they 


GREGORY  BOKSA.  233 

did  not  forget  to  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  his  move- 
ments through  it  all. 

His  actions,  however,  were  not  of  the  sort  to 
arouse  suspicion.  First  he  drew  out  his  pipe  and 
opened  his  tobacco-pouch  ;  then  he  removed  his  hat. 
Perhaps  he  was  wont  to  pray  before  going  to  sleep  ; 
and  very  likely,  too,  he  found  it  easier  to  go  to  sleep 
with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth.  After  filling  and  lighting 
that  trusty  companion  of  his  meditations,  he  lay  down 
on  his  stomach  —  he  had  good  and  sufficient  reasons 
for  not  lying  on  his  back  —  and  puffed  away  in 
apparent  content.  Then,  to  pass  away  the  time,  he 
took  his  knife  and  began  to  scrape  off  the  accu- 
mulated dirt  and  grease  from  the  edge  of  his  felt  hat, 
gathering  the  scrapings  together  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand.  The  hat  was  old  and  dilapidated ;  it  had 
weathered  many  a  storm,  was  full  of  holes,  and  was 
so  stained  with  sweat  and  dust  and  rain  that  its 
original  colour  had  become  a  matter  of  pure  con- 
jecture. Unquestionably  it  stood  in  sad  need  of 
the  cleaning  which  its  owner  now  undertook^  to  per- 
form. 

When  the  ox-herd  had  collected  a  little  heap  of 
scrapings  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  he  raised  the 
lid  of  his  pipe  and  emptied  them  on  the  burning 
tobacco,  whereupon  such  a  penetrating  and  offen- 
sive odour  arose  as  had  never  before  saluted  the 
nose  of  man  or  beast.     What  the  connection  may  be 


234  THE   BARON'S  SONS.  Q^'       \ 

between  the  nervous  system  of  an  ox  and  an  odour  of 
this  sort,  neither  Oken  nor  Cuvier  has  explained ;  but 
all  cattle-raisers  and  ox-herds  know  that,  after  inhal- 
ing these  pungent  fumes,  an  ox  ceases  to  be  an  ox  and 
becomes  a  wild  animal.  It  is  as  if  he  were  reduced 
to  his  original  untamed  condition  :  he  falls  into  a 
rage,  breaks  away,  tries  to  toss  on  his  horns  every 
one  who  opposes  him,  runs  down  and  tramples 
upon  all  in  his  path,  and,  in  short,  becomes  utterly 
unmanageable. 

As  soon  as  the  leader  of  the  herd  scented  the 
powerful  stench  which  Boksa  had  raised,  he  sprang 
up  from  his  bed  on  the  ground,  tossed  his  head,  and 
sniffed  the  breeze.  A  fresh  puff  of  smoke  from 
Gregory's  pipe  made  the  now  excited  animal  shake 
his  head  till  the  bell  he  wore  around  his  neck  rang 
aloud.  Then  he  lashed  his  sides  with  his  tail  and 
gave  a  short,  hoarse  bellow  like  that  of  a  wild  bull. 
Next  he  began  to  leap  and  plunge  and  throw  his 
head  this  way  and  that,  whereupon  all  the  rest  of  the 
herd  sprang  up  in  great  excitement.  In  a  state  of 
evident  alarm  and  panic,  the  oxen  all  backed  away 
from  the  quarter  whence  came  the  offensive  odour, 
their  horns  lowered  as  if  in  expectation  of  attack 
from  some  unseen  enemy.  The  consequence  of  this 
retreat  in  a  body  was  that  the  hedge  was  broken 
down  —  it  could  not  have  withstood  the  strain  even 
had  it  been  of  iron  —  and  the  whole  herd  went  dash- 


GREGORY  BOKSA.  235 

ing  away  over  the  meadow  beyond  in  the  wildest 
confusion. 

At  the  sound  of  this  outbreak,  officers,  orderhes, 
and  corporals  came  running  to  the  scene  and  called 
upon  Gregory  to  know  what  it  all  meant.  It  needed 
no  lengthy  explanation  on  his  part,  however,  to  show 
that  the  herd  was  running  away.  It  did  no  good  to 
ply  the  whip  or  belabour  the  animals  with  the  flat  of 
one's  sword  :  they  crowded  the  sentinels  to  one  side, 
ran  over  the  watch-fires,  and  broke  completely 
through  the  lines,  with  loud  bellowing  and  a  deafen- 
ing thunder  of  hoofs  on  the  hollow  ground.  Why 
they  behaved  so  was  a  mystery  to  all.  Surely  Greg- 
ory Boksa  had  done  nothing  whatever  to  them  ;  he 
could  not  have  aroused  them  to  such  a  mad  stampede. 
He  had  been  lying  there  on  his  stomach,  quietly 
smoking,  all  the  while. 

"  What  is  going  on  here  }  What  does  this  mean  }  " 
cried  the  colonel,  approaching  the  newly  appointed 
ox-herd. 

The  latter  removed  his  pipe  and  put  it  away  in  his 
pocket,  as  is  becoming  when  a  man  is  addressed  by 
his  superiors,  and  then,  with  an  air  of  profound 
wisdom,  proceeded  to  explain  matters.  "The  oxen 
have  seen  a  vision,  sir,"  said  he. 

"A  vision  ?"  repeated  the  colonel,  puzzled. 

"Yes,  sir;  that  is  no  uncommon  occurrence. 
Cattle-dealers    and    butchers    know  very  well    what 


236  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

that  means,  but  the  ox-herd  understands  it  best  of 
all.  You  see,  the  ox  dreams  just  like  a  human  being, 
and  when  he  has  a  vision  in  his  sleep  he  goes  mad 
and  runs  till  he  is  so  tired  he  can't  run  another  step. 
Then  comes  the  gathering  of  the  frightened  animals 
together  again  and  driving  them  back.  But  you 
leave  that  to  me  :  I  understand  the  business.  Once 
let  me  get  after  them  on  my  white-faced  horse  with 
my  long  whip,  and  I'll  have  every  one  of  them  back 
again  in  no  time." 

"  Make  haste  about  it  then,"  said  the  colonel ; 
"for  they  might  stray  away  out  of  your  reach.  And 
there  is  one  of  the  sentinels  yonder ;  he  shall  mount 
and  go  with  you." 

Painfully  and  with  many  groans  Gregory  Boksa 
climbed  into  his  saddle  ;  but  once  seated  and  with 
his  feet  in  the  stirrups,  he  seemed  to  have  grown 
there.  "Now,  Colonel,"  he  cried,  "just  watch  and 
see  how  soon  I'll  be  back  again." 

The  officer  failed  to  note  the  cunning  and  ironical 
tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered,  and  which 
was  very  different  from  the  ox-herd's  earlier  manner 
of  speech. 

With  a  loud  crack  of  his  whip  and  a  goat -like  spring 
of  his  piebald  steed,  Boksa  was  over  the  hedge  and 
after  the  vanishing  herd,  the  dragoon  galloping  after 
him.  Gregory  knew  that  his  long-lashed  whip  was 
of  more   use  just   then    than    fifty   swords.      Three 


GREGORY  BOKSA.  237 

cavalrymen  could  not,  to  save  their  lives,  catch  an  ox 
that  had  once  gone  wild.  The  task  before  the  ox- 
herd was  like  a  Spanish  bull-fight  of  gigantic  propor- 
tions ;  but  as  often  as  he  cracked  his  whip,  marvellous 
results  were  sure  to  follow.  With  incredible  skill  he 
soon  had  the  fifty  runaway  cattle  together.  Turning 
his  horse  now  in  this  direction,  now  in  that,  he 
gathered  the  animals,  one  by  one,  about  their  leader. 
The  dragoon  meanwhile  followed  close  at  his  heels, 
shouting  and  swearing  at  the  herd  as  he  rode. 

When  at  length  the  cattle  were  gathered  into  one 
compact  body,  Boksa  suddenly  spurred  his  horse  into 
their  very  midst  and  delivered  two  stinging  blows 
with  his  wire-tipped  whip-lash  on  the  leader's  back, 
which  of  course  made  the  animal  run  all  the  faster. 
At  this  the  dragoon  began  to  suspect  that  Gregory 
was  up  to  mischief,  and  he  called  out  to  know  why  he 
did  not  turn  the  herd  back  toward  the  camp.  But 
he  appealed  to  deaf  ears.  All  at  once  Boksa  refused 
to  understand  a  word  of  German,  and  the  dragoon's 
command  of  Hungarian  did  not  extend  beyond  a  few 
oaths. 

"  Teremtette  ! '  Don't  chase  the  oxen  like  that  !  " 
But  Gregory  was  determined  not  to  hear  him. 
"Hold  on,  betyárja  or  it'll  be  the  worse  for  you." 
The  ox-herd,  however,  only  lashed  his  animals  the 
more  furiously.  "If  you  can't  hear  me  when  I  call," 
'  Teremtette,  zooks !         ^  Betyár,  stupid  bumpkin. 


238  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

shouted  the  dragoon,'  "perhaps  you'll  listen  to  this." 
And  drawing  one  of  his  pistols,  he  discharged  it  at 
the  unruly  ox-driver. 

Gregory  looked  around  as  the  ball  whistled  by  his 
head.  "Just  see  the  booby!"  he  shouted  taunt- 
ingly ;  "  couldn't  hit  the  side  of  a  barn  !  Now  let's 
have  the  other." 

The  soldier  fired  his  second  pistol,  with  no  better 
success. 

"  Now  then,  try  your  sword  !  "  challenged  Gregory 
Boksa,  half  turning  in  his  saddle,  and  bidding  the 
other  defiance.  And  yet  he  himself  was  entirely 
defenceless  except  for  his  ox-whip. 

The  dragoon  was  in  deadly  earnest.  Drawing  his 
sword,  he  charged  upon  the  ox-driver  at  full  tilt. 
The  latter  swung  his  whip  and  aimed  a  cut  as  if  at 
his  pursuer's  left  cheek.  The  dragoon  parried  on  the 
left  with  his  sword  and  received  a  stinging  blow  on 
his  right  cheek.  Then  Gregory  Boksa  aimed  his 
whip  as  if  at  the  soldier's  right  ear,  and  when  the 
dragoon  parried  on  that  side  he  got  another  sharp 
cut,  this  time  on  his  left  cheek.  A  cursed  weapon 
to  deal  with,  that  aimed  in  one  direction  and  hit  in 
another  !  The  dragoon  swore  in  German  and  Hun- 
garian together. 

A  third  time  the  ox-herd  made  his  whip-lash 
whistle  through  the  air,  and  this  time  the  sharp  wire 
on  the  end  flew  straight  at  the  nostrils  of  the  soldier's 


GREGORY  BOKSA.  239 

horse.  The  animal,  stung  on  this  very  tender  spot, 
reared  and  pirouetted,  and  finally,  with  a  leap  to  one 
side,  threw  its  rider, 

Gregory  Boksa,  paying  no  further  heed  to  the 
dragoon,  galloped  after  his  runaway  herd,  and  guided 
it  in  the  right  direction.  It  was  dark,  and  a  thick 
mist  lay  over  the  fields.  He  was  free  to  go  whither- 
soever he  chose. 

The  two  Baradlay  brothers,  meanwhile,  were  busy 
restoring  order  in  their  camp,  and  it  was  toward  morn- 
ing when  Ödön  sought  his  couch.  Richard  laid  his 
head  on  the  table  before  him ;  he  could  sleep  very 
well  so.  Suddenly,  as  the  day  was  beginning  to 
dawn,  a  trampling  of  many  hoofs  and  the  cracking  of 
a  whip  awoke  the  sleepers.  Richard  ran  to  the 
window  and  beheld  Gregory  just  dismounting  from 
his  horse,  and  surrounded  by  his  herd  of  oxen.  The 
sweat  ran  from  the  animals'  panting  sides,  and  their 
quivering  nostrils  breathed  forth  clouds  of  steam. 
They  saw  no  more  visions  ;  they  were  tame,  submis- 
sive, obedient  subjects. 

Richard  and  Ödön  hastened  out.  Gregory  Boksa 
drew  himself  up  and  gave  the  military  salute. 

"  Gregory  Boksa,  you  are  a  man  of  the  right  sort !  " 
exclaimed  Richard,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"  So  the  herd  is  all  here,  is  it .''  " 

"The  whole  fifty  head,  sir." 

"  Aha  !     Now  all  respect  to  you.     Paul,  hand  him 


240  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

the  flask  and  let  him  drink  to  his  very  good 
health." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Gregory,  waving  aside  the 
offered  flask  with  a  serious  air  ;  "first,  I  have  certain 
matters  to  attend  to."  Then,  turning  to  Richard, 
"  Yesterday  I  swore  that  the  fifty  lashes  should  be 
paid  for,  and  now  I  have  come  to  settle  the  score. 
There  is  the  payment,  —  fifty  for  fifty.  Now,  Cap- 
tain, have  the  goodness  to  give  me  a  receipt,  stating 
that  the  fifty  strokes  with  the  strap  are  'null  and 
void.'  "  - 

"  What  do  3^ou  want  of  such  a  receipt,  Boksa  ? " 
asked  Richard. 

"  I  want  it  as  a  proof  that  the  fifty  I  received 
yesterday  don't  count ;  so  that  when  any  one  brings 
them  up  against  me  I  can  contradict  him,  and  show 
him  my  evidence  in  black  and  white." 

"All  right,  Boksa,  you  shall  have  it."  And  Rich- 
ard went  back  to  his  room,  took  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
and  drew  up  a  certificate,  stating  that  the  fifty  lashes 
administered  to  Gregory  Boksa  were  thereby  declared 
to  be  null,  void,  and  of  no  vaHdity.  The  words  "null, 
void,  and  of  no  validity  "  gave  Gregory  no  little  com- 
fort, as  well  as  the  fact  that  the  document  was  coun- 
tersigned by  Ödön  Baradlay.  The  ox-herd  stuck  the 
certificate  into  the  pocket  of  his  dolman  with  much 
satisfaction,  and  received  back  his  sword,  pistols,  and 
pole-axe. 


GREGORY  BOKSA.  24 1 

"  Now  then,  where  is  the  flask  ?  "  said  he. 

Old  Paul  handed  him  the  bottle,  and  he  did  not 
put  it  down  till  he  had  drained  the  last  drop. 

"And  now  tell  me,"  said  Richard,  "how  you  man- 
aged to  get  the  oxen  back. 

Gregory  Boksa  shrugged  his  shoulders,  tightened 
his  belt,  drew  down  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  wrinkled 
his  nose,  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  finally  thus  deliv- 
ered himself  over  one  shoulder :  "  Well,  you  see,  I 
went  to  the  German  colonel  and  asked  him  kindly  to 
let  me  have  my  cattle  back  again.  The  German  is 
a  good  fellow,  and,  without  wasting  words  over  the 
matter,  he  gave  me  the  animals  all  back,  and  one  or 
two  extra,  with  his  compliments  and  best  wishes  to 
Captain  Baradlay." 

More  than  this  was  not  to  be  got  from  Gregory 
Boksa.  The  loud-mouthed  braggart,  who  was  never 
tired  of  rehearsing  deeds  which  he  had  not  per- 
formed, took  a  fancy,  now  that  he  had  actually 
carried  through  a  genuine  bit  of  darmg,  to  keep  as 
still  as  a  mouse  about  it  ;  and  no  one  ever  heard  from 
him  the  smallest  account  of  how  he  passed  that 
night. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

IN    THE    ROYAL    FOREST. 

The  Royal  Forest  lies  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Rákos,  near  Isaszeg.  Three  highroads  lead  through 
it,  and  all  three  unite  at  Isaszeg,  which  thus  forms 
the  gateway  to  Pest. 

The  Hungarian  army  was  bent  on  reaching  Pest, 
and  it  was  for  this  that  it  was  now  fighting.  The 
enemy  held  the  forest,  and  for  six  hours  the  Hunga- 
rian forces  had  been  fighting  their  way  through,  when 
both  sides  prepared  for  a  last  desperate  struggle. 

The  Austrians  planned  to  strike  a  decisive  blow 
against  their  opponents'  centre.  Sixteen  troops  of 
light  cavalry,  lancers,  and  dragoons,  two  cuirassier 
regiments,  eight  batteries  of  cannon,  and  two  mortar 
batteries  crossed  the  Rákos  above  Isaszeg  and  de- 
scended like  an  avalanche  on  the  Hungarian  centre. 
The  Hungarian.s,  drawn  up  in  close  order,  occupied 
that  circular  space  which  even  now  shows  the  traces 
of  having  once  been  trampled  by  many  feet.  There 
were  three  thousand  hussars  in  a  body.  Against 
them  the  enemy  levelled  their  field-batteries,  planting 

242 


IN   THE  ROYAL   FOREST.  243 

them  in  the  spaces  between  the  different  divisions  of 
their  troops  and  on  the  wings,  and  opened  a  murder- 
ous fire.  There  was  but  one  way  to  meet  this  fire, 
and  that  was  to  make  a  sudden  cavahy  charge  wliich 
should  throw  the  enemy's  ranks  into  confusion  and 
make  it  impossible  to  distinguish  between  friend  and 
foe.  Thus  the  artillerists  would  be  compelled  to 
desist.  This  plan  was  executed.  Over  the  whole 
battle-field  the  trumpets  sounded  the  charge.  The 
earth  trembled  under  the  mighty  shock,  and  the 
forest  rang  with  the  battle-cry,  in  which  was  presently 
mingled  the  clashing  of  steel,  as  thousands  of  swords 
met  in  deadly  strife.  A  cloud  of  dust  veiled  the 
scene  for  a  space,  and  when  it  cleared  one  might 
have  witnessed  the  living  enactment  of  the  hero-epics 
of  old, — six  or  seven  thousand  knights  indiscrimi- 
nately mingled,  and  every  man  seeking  his  foe.  Horses 
were  rearing  and  snorting,  flashing  swords  rang  blade 
against  blade,  red  shakos,  shining  helmets,  and  four- 
cornered  caps  were  densely  crowded  in  one  swaying, 
surging,  struggling  mass. 

In  the  stress  of  the  conflict,  two  leaders  who  towered 
by  a  head  above  their  fellows  suddenly  caught  sight 
of  each  other.  One  was  Richard  Baradlav,  the  other 
Otto  Palvicz.  It  was  like  the  meeting  of  two  light- 
ning flashes  from  two  thunder-clouds.  They  broke 
through  the  mass  of  fighting  warriors  about  them  and 
pushed  their  way  toward  each  other.     The  horsemen 


244  r//£   BAJWX'S  SONS. 

opened  a  lane  through  their  ranks  for  the  two  cham- 
pions, as  if  recognising  that  here  was  the  heaven- 
ordained  decision.  The  swords  of  these  two  mighty 
warriors  should  decide  the  issue  ;  let  them  fight  it 
out. 

They  fell  on  each  other,  neither  of  them  taking 
thought  to  parry  his  opponent's  blow,  but  each  strik- 
ing at  one  and  the  same  instant  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  arm  and  the  fury  of  his  passion.  Rising  in  their 
stirrups  and  swinging  aloft  their  swords,  they  aimed 
each  at  the  other's  head.  Like  two  flashes  of  light- 
ning, both  blades  descended  at  once,  and  both  warriors 
fell  in  the  same  moment  from  their  horses.  Truly,  it 
was  a  well-aimed  stroke  that  felled  Richard  Baradlay, 
and  had  he  not  borne  the  charmed  life  of  the  heroes 
of  the  Iliad  and  the  Niebelungenlied,  that  day  had 
been  his  last  on  earth.  Otto  Palvicz's  sword  had  cleft 
his  opponent's  shako,  cutting  through  the  metal  crown  ; 
but,  as  often  happens  in  such  strokes,  the  blade  was 
so  turned  in  its  course  that  the  flat  of  the  sword  and 
not  the  edge  spent  its  force  on  the  hussar  captain's 
head.  Yet  the  fearful  blow  was  even  thus  enough  to 
stun  Richard,  and  throw  him  unconscious  to  the 
ground. 

His  own  stroke,  however,  descending  like  a  thun- 
derbolt from  heaven,  was  more  effective.  Cleaving 
the  helmet  of  the  cuirassier  major,  it  left  a  gaping 
wound  on  his  skull. 


IN  THE  ROYAL   FOREST.  245 

No  sooner  had  the  two  champions  fallen  than 
there  followed  a  furious  conflict  over  their  bodies, 
each'  side  striving  to  rescue  its  fallen  hero.  Old 
Paul,  who  had  spurred  his  horse  after  his  master, 
sprang  from  his  saddle  and  threw  himself  on  Richard's 
body.  The  hoofs  of  trampling  steeds  soon  stamped 
the  life  out  of  the  faithful  servant,  but  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  saving  the  one  being  in  this  world  whom 
he  loved.  With  unselfish  affection,  he  had  shielded 
his  dear  master  and  cheerfully  laid  down  his  life  for 
him. 

At  that  moment  the  sound  as  of  an  approaching 
army  fell  on  the  ear.  What  did  it  mean }  The 
woods  were  ringing  with  the  battle-cry,  '*  Éljen  a 
haza  .^ "  '  The  Hungarian  reserve  corps  had  arrived 
and  was  pushing  to  the  front.  Its  batteries  opened 
fire  on  the  enemy,  and  the  militia  battalions  drove 
the  foe  out  of  the  woods.  The  battle  was  at  last 
decided.  The  Austrian  trumpeters  sounded  the  re- 
treat, and  the  battle-field  was  left  deserted,  except 
for  the  dead  and  the  wounded.  When  the  Hungarians 
sent  out  to  gather  them  up.  Otto  Palvicz  was  found 
to  be  still  alive. 

'  Long  live  our  country ! 


^A^^.j^^^ 


f'^A^-^dV? 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE    DYING    SOLDIER's    BEQUEST, 

It  was  dark  when  Richard  recovered  consciousness. 
At  first  the  gloom  seemed  to  him  like  something  dense 
and  heavy  pressing  against  his  head,  and  when  he 
raised  his  hand  he  was  surprised  to  find  its  movement 
unimpeded  by  this  thick,  black  substance. 

"  Oho  !  "  he  cried,  discovering  at  length  that  his 
tongue  was  movable. 

At  his  call  a  door  opened  and  Mausmann's  face 
looked  in,  lighted  by  a  lantern  which  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"  Well,  are  you  awake  at  last  ?  "  asked  the  student, 
still  wearing  his  droll  expression. 

"Am  I  really  alive  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  Hardly  a  scratch  on  you,"  was  the  cheerful  reply. 
"  You  were  only  a  transient  guest  in  the  other 
world." 

"  But  where  am  I  now  }" 

"In  the  mill  by  the  Rákos." 

"  Did  we  win  the  fight  ?  "  The  questioner  suddenly 
recalled  the  events  of  the  day  just  passed. 

246 


THE   DYING  SOLDIER'S  BEQUEST.  247 

"  Did  we  win,  you  ask.  Isaszeg  is  ours,  and  the 
victory  is  complete." 

At  this  Richard  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"That's  right !  "  cried  Mausmann  ;  "there's  nothing 
the  matter  with  you,  —  a  lump  on  your  head,  and  a 
three-inch  sohitio  continnitatis  of  the  skin,  that's 
all." 

"  And  what  of  Otto  Palvicz  }  " 

"  Ah,  you  handled  him  rather  roughly.  He  is  here 
too  in  the  miller's  house,  and  the  staff  physician  has 
charge  of  his  case.  His  wound  is  thought  to  be 
mortal,  and  he  himself  is  prepared  for  the  worst.  His 
first  words  to  me,  when  I  went  to  him,  were,  '  How  is 
Baradlay  .-' '  And  when  I  told  him  you  were  out  of 
danger,  he  asked  me  to  take  you  to  him,  as  he  had 
something  important  to  say  to  you." 

"If  he  wishes  to  see  me,  so  much  the  better,"  re- 
joined Richard.  "  I  should  have  felt  bound  in  any 
case  to  visit  my  wounded  opponent.  Let  us  go  to 
him  now." 

Otto  Palvicz  lay  in  a  small  room  in  the  miller's 
dwelling.  Seeing  Richard  Baradlay  enter,  he  tried 
to  sit  up,  and  requested  that  something  be  put  under 
his  head  to  raise  it.  Then  he  extended  his  hand  to 
his  visitor. 

"  Good  evening,  comrade,"  said  he.  "  How  goes 
it  .''  You  see  I'm  done  for  this  time.  But  don't  take 
it  to  heart.     It  wasn't  your  sword  that  did  the  mis- 


248  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

chief.  I  have  a  tough  skull  of  my  own,  and  it  has 
stood  many  a  good  whack.  The  good-for-nothing 
horses  used  me  up  with  their  hoofs.  There  must  be 
something  wrong  inside  me,  and  I  shall  die  of  it. 
You  are  not  to  blame  ;  don't  be  at  all  concerned. 
We  gave  each  other  one  apiece,  and  we  are  quits.  I 
have  settled  my  accounts  for  this  life,  but  one  debt 
remains."  He  grasped  Richard's  hand  with  feverish 
energy  and  added,  "  Comrade,  I  have  a  child  that  to- 
morrow will  be  fatherless."  A  flush  overspread  the 
dying  man's  face.  "  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story. 
My  time  is  short.  I  must  die,  and  I  can  leave  my 
secret  only  to  a  noble-hearted  man  who  will  know 
how  to  honour  and  guard  it.  I  was  your  enemy,  but 
now  I  am  good  friends  with  everybody.  You  have 
g(jt  the  better  of  me,  and  are  left  to  receive  your  old 
enemy's  bequest  ;  it  is  your  duty  to  accept  it." 

"  I  accept  it,"  said  Richard. 

"  I  knew  you  would,  and  so  I  sent  for  you.  I  have 
a  son  whom  I  have  never  seen,  and  never  shall  see. 
His  mother  is  a  high-born  lady  ;  you  will  find  her 
name  in  the  papers  that  are  in  my  pocketbook. 
She  was  beautiful,  but  heartless.  I  was  a  young 
lieutenant  when  we  first  met.  We  were  both  thought- 
less and  self-willed.  My  father  was  alive  then,  "and  he 
would  not  consent  to  our  marriage,  although  it  would 
have  atoned  for  the  indiscretion  of  an  unguarded 
hour.    Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now.    Yet  she  needn't 


THE   DYING  SOLDIER'S  BEQUEST.  249 

have  torn  a  piece  of  her  heart  out,  and  thrown  it  into 
the  gutter.  She,  my  wife  before  God  and  by  the  laws 
of  nature,  went  on  a  journey  with  her  mother  and 
came  back  again  as  a  maiden.  I  learned  only  that 
the  hapless  being  sent  into  a  world  where  there  are 
already  too  many  of  its  kind,  was  a  boy.  What 
became  of  him,  I  did  not  find  out  at  the  time.  Later 
I  won  for  myself  a  good  station  in  my  military  career, 
my  father  died,  and  I  was  independent  ;  and,  by  heaven, 
I  would  have  married  the  woman  if  she  could  only 
have  told  me  where  my  child  was.  She  besieged  me 
with  letters,  she  begged  for  an  interview,  she  used  every 
entreaty  ;  but  to  each  of  her  letters  I  only  replied  : 
'  First  find  my  child.'  I  was  cruel  to  her.  She  could 
have  married  more  than  once  ;  suitors  were  about  her 
in  plenty.  'I  forbid  you  to  marry,'  I  wrote  to  her. 
'Then  marry  me  yourself,'  she  answered.  'First  find 
my  child,'  I  repeated.  I  tortured  her,  but  she  had  no 
heart  to  feel  the  infliction  very  keenly.  She  said  she 
didn't  know  what  had  become  of  the  child.  She  had 
not  tried  to  find  it  ;  nay,  she  had  taken  the  utmost 
pains  to  destroy  all  traces  that  could  lead  to  its  dis- 
covery, either  by  herself  or  by  another.  But,  never- 
theless, I  found  the  clue.  I  spent  years  in  the  search. 
I  came  upon  one  little  baby  footstep  after  another,  — 
here  a  nurse,  there  a  scrap  of  writing,  in  another  place 
a  child's  hood,  and  finally  the  end  of  the  search  seemed 
at  hand.     But  right  there  I  am  stopped  ;  I  must  die." 


250  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

The  rough  man's  breast  heaved  with  a  deep  sigh. 
The  rude  exterior  covered  a  tender  heart.  Richard 
hstened  attentively  to  every  word. 

"Comrade,"  said  the  dying  soldier,  "give  me  your 
hand,-  and  promise  that  you  will  do  the  errand  I  can  no 
longer  execute." 

Richard  gave  his  hand. 

"  In  my  pocketbook  you  will  find  papers  telling 
where  the  persons  are  who  will  help  you  to  find  the 
boy.  He  was,  at  last  accounts,  in  the  care  of  a 
peddler  woman  in  Pest.  I  learned  this  from  a  Vienna 
huckster.  But  I  failed  to  find  the  woman  in  Pest,  as 
she  had  removed  to  Debreczen.  I  could  not  follow 
her,  but  I  learned  that  she  had  sent  the  child  to  a 
peasant  woman  in  the  country.  Where  .-•  She  alone 
can  tell.  Yet  I  learned  this  much  from  a  girl  that 
lived  with  her, — that  the  peasant  woman  into  whose 
care  the  boy  was  given,  and  who  made  a  business 
of  taking  such  waifs,  was  often  at  the  peddler 
woman's  house,  and  complained  that  she  didn't 
receive  enough  money  to  pay  for  the  child's  board. 
The  woman  lives  poorly,  I  was  told,  and  the  boy  goes 
hungry  and  in  rags." 

The  speaker  paused  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"But  it  is  a  pretty  child,"  he  resumed.  "The 
peasant  woman  brought  the  little  fellow  to  town  with 
her  now  and  then,  to  prove  that  he  was  ali\e ;  he  can 


THE   DYING  SOLDIER'S  BEQUEST.  25  I 

always  be  identified  by  a  mole  in  the  shape  of 
a  blackberry  on  his  breast.  The  peddler,  out  of 
pity  and  fondness  for  the  child,  used  to  pay  the 
woman  a  little  money  —  so  I  was  told  —  and  in 
that  way  the  poor  boy  was  kept  alive.  The  mother 
has  long  ago  forgotten  him.  Comrade,  I  shall 
hear  the  child's  cries  even  after  I  am  under  the 
sod." 

" Don't  worry  about  him,"  said  Richard,  "he  shall 
not  cry." 

"  You'll  find  him,  won't  you  .-'  And  there  is  money 
in  my  pocketbook  to  support  him  until  he  grows  up." 

"  I  will  hunt  up  the  boy  and  take  him  under  my 
care  "  promised  the  other. 

"Among  my  papers,"  continued  the  other,  "you 
will  find  a  formal  authorisation,  entitling  the  child  to 
bear  my  name.  Yet  he  is  never  to  know  who  I  was. 
Tell  him  his  father  was  a  poor  soldier,  and  have  him 
learn  an  honest  trade,  Richard." 

"  You  may  rely  on  me,  comrade  Otto ;  I  promise 
you  to  take  care  of  the  boy  as  if  he  were  my  own 
brother's  child." 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  and  relief  lighted  up  the 
dying  man's  face. 

"And  comrade,"  he  added,  "this  secret  that  I 
am  confiding  to  you  is  a  woman's  secret.  Promise 
me,  on  your  honour,  that  you  will  never  betray  that 
woman.     Not  even  to  my  son  are  you  to  tell   the 


252  '     TJ/E  BARON'S  SONS. 

mother's  name.     She  is  not  a  good  woman,  but  let 
her  shame  be  buried  in  my  grave." 

Richard  gave  his  promise  in  a  voice  that  testified 
how  deeply  he  was  moved.  The  pale  face  before  him 
grew  yet  paler,  and  ere  many  minutes  had  passed 
the  eyes  that  looked  into  his  became,  glazed  and  fixed  ; 
the  wounded  soldier  had  ceased  to  breathe. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SUNLIGHT    AND    MOONLIGHT. 

The  poplar  trees  on  Körös  Island  are  clothing 
themselves  with  green,  while  yellow  and  blue  flowers 
dot  the  turf.  The  whole  island  is  a  veritable  little 
paradise.  It  forms  the  summer  residence  of  a  family 
of  wealth  and  taste.  On  the  broad  veranda,  which 
is  shaded  from  the  morning  sun  by  a  damask  awning, 
stands  a  cradle  hung  with  dainty  white  curtains  ;  and 
in  the  cradle  sleeps  a  little  baby.  In  a  willow  chair 
at  the  foot  of  the  cradle  sits  the  mother,  in  a  white, 
lace-trimmed  wrapper,  her  hair  falling  in  natural  curls 
over  her  shoulders  and  bosom.  A  young  man  sits 
before  an  easel  opposite  the  lady,  and  paints  her 
miniature,  while  at  the  other  end  of  the  veranda  a 
three-year-old  boy  is  engaged  in  coaxing  a  big  New- 
foundland dog  to  serve  as  pony  to  his  little  master. 

This  young  mother  and  these  children  are  Ödön 
Baradlay's  wife  and  children,  and  the  young  man  is 
his  brother  Jenő.  Without  Jenő  to  bear  her  company, 
the  young  wife  might  lose  her  reason,  thinking  of  her 
absent   husband,   imagining  his   perils,   and    waiting 

2S3 


254  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

weeks  for  any  news  from  him.  Jeno  knows  how  to 
dispel  her  fears  :  for  every  anxiety  he  has  an  anti- 
dote, and  when  all  else  fails  he  rides  to  the  next  town 
and  brings  back  cheering  tidings  —  in  which,  alas, 
there  may  be  but  few  words  of  truth. 

The  young  artist  is  not  satisfied  with  his  picture. 
He  has  a  decided  artistic  bent  and  talks  of  going  to 
Eome  to  study ;  but  this  likeness  that  he  is  now  try- 
ing to  paint  baffles  him.  It  seems  to  lack  something  ; 
although  the  features  are  correctly  drawn,  the  whole 
has  a  strange  and  unnatural  look. 

"Béla,  come  here,  little  nephew." 

The  boy  left  the  Newfoundland  dog  and  ran  to  his 
uncle. 

"  Look  here,  look  at  this  picture  and  tell  me  who 
it  is." 

The  little  fellow  stared  a  moment  at  the  painting 
with  his  great  blue  eyes.  "  A  pretty  lady,"  he 
answered. 

"  Don't  you  know  your  mamma,  Béla  .''  "  asked  the 
artist. 

"  My  mamma  doesn't  look  like  that,"  declared  the 
boy,  and  ran  back  to  his  four-footed  playmate. 

"The  likeness  is  good,"  said  Aranka  encourag- 
ingly ;  "  I  am  sure  it  is." 

"But  I  am  sure  it  is  not,"  protested  Jeno,  "and 
the  fault  is  yours.  When  you  sit  to  me  you  are  all 
the  time  worrying  about  Ödön,   and  that    produces 


SUNLIGHT  AND  MOONLIGHT.  255 

exactly  the  expression  I  wish  to  avoid.  We  want  to 
surprise  him  with  the  picture,  and  he  mustn't  see  you 
looking  so  anxious  and  sad." 

"  But  how  can  I  help  it  t " 

Alas,  what  tireless  efforts  the  young  man  had  put 
forth  to  cheer  up  his  sister-in-law  !  How  carefully  he 
had  hidden  his  own  anxious  forebodings  and  predicted 
an  early  triumph  for  the  cause  of  freedom,  when  his 
own  heavy  heart  told  him  it  could  not  be. 

A  faint  cry  from  the  wee  mite  of  humanity  in  the 
cradle  diverted  the  mother's  attention,  and  as  she 
bent  over  her  baby  and  its  cry  turned  to  a  laugh,  the 
young  artist  caught  at  last  on  her  face  the  expression 
he  had  been  waiting  for, —  the  tender,  happy  look  of  a 
fond  mother. 

In  the  castle  at  Nemesdomb  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly  through  the  windows.  It  fell  on  the  family 
portraits,  one  after  another,  and  they  seemed  to  step 
from  their  frames  like  pale  ghosts.  Brightest  and 
clearest  among  them  all  was  the  likeness  of  the  man 
with  the  heart  of  stone. 

Back  and  forth  glided  a  woman's  form  clad  in 
white.  One  might  have  thought  a  marble  statue 
from  the  family  vault  had  left  its  pedestal "^o  join  the 
weird  assembly  in  the  portrait  gallery.  The  stillness 
of  the  night  was  broken  from  time  to  time  by  a  sigh 
or  a  groan  or  a  stifled  cry  of  pain.     What  ghostly 


256  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

voices  were  those  that  disturbed  the  quiet  of  that 
moonht  scene  ? 

The  whole  Baradlay  castle  had  been  turned  into  a 
hospital  by  its  mistress  and  opened  to  the  warriors 
wounded  in  the  struggle  for  freedom ;  and  it  was 
these  poor  soldiers  whose  cries  of  pain  now  broke 
the  stillness  of  the  night.  Two  physicians  were  in 
attendance ;  the  library  was  turned  into  a  pharmacy 
and  the  great  hall  into  a  surgeon's  operating-room, 
while  the  baroness  and  her  women  spent  their  days 
picking  lint  and  preparing  compresses. 

Standing  in  the  moonlight  before  her  dead  hus- 
band's portrait,  the  widow  spoke  with  him.  "No," 
said  she  firmly,  "you  shall  not  frighten  me  away,  I 
will  meet  you  face  to  face.  You  say  to  me :  '  All 
this  is  your  work  ! '  I  do  not  deny  it.  These  groans 
and  sighs  allow  neither  you  nor  me  to  sleep.  But 
you  know  well  enough  that  bloodshed  and  suffering- 
were  inevitable ;  that  this  cup  of  bitterness  was, 
sooner  or  later,  to  be  drained  to  the  bottom  ;  that 
whoever  would  enjoy  eternal  life  must  first  suffer 
death.  You  ask  me  what  I  have  done  with  your 
sons.  The  exact  contrary  to  what  you  bade  me  do. 
Two  of  them  are  fighting  for  their  country  ;  one  of 
the  two  is  wounded,  and  I  may  hear  of  his  death  any 
day.  But  I  repent  not  of  what  I  have  done.  I 
await  what  destiny  has  in  store  for  us,  and  if  I  am  to 
lose  all  my  sons,  so  be  it  !     It  is  better  to  suffer  de- 


SUNLIGHT  AND   MOONLIGHT.  257 

feat    in  a  righteous    cause    than    to    triumph    in    an 
unrighteous  one." 

She  left  the  portrait  and  sought  lier  own  apart- 
ment, and  the  moonlight  crept  on  and  left  the  haughty 
face  on  the  wall  in  darkness. 


■^  ^..^^^^^^Vv 


(^         V  .     '^ 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  woman's  hatred. 

In  the  Plankenhorst  house  another  of  those  con- 
fidential interviews  was  being-  held  in  which  Sister 
Remigia  and  her  pupil  were  wont  to  take  part. 
-  Prince  Windischgratz's  latest  despatches  had 
brought  news  of  a  decisive  engagement  in  the  Royal 
Forest  near  Isaszeg.  At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening 
the  ban  '  had  been  on  the  point  of  dealing  the  Hun- 
garians a  final  crushing  blow,  and  the  commander-in- 
chief  had  been  assured  he  might  go  to  sleep  with  no 
anxiety  as  to  the  issue.  It  was  not  until  seven  in  the 
morning  that  he  was  awakened  by  the  ban  himself 
with  the  announcement  that  he  had  abandoned  the 
field  to  the  enemy.  Despatches  to  that  effect  were 
immediately  sent  to  Vienna. 

Baroness  Plankenhorst  and  her  daughter,  with 
Sister  Remigia  and  Edith,  sat  talking  over  the  battle 
of  Isaszeg  and  the  supposed  victory  of  the  Austrians. 
Three  of  the  ladies  were  in  the  best  of  humours.     In 

■  The  victory  of  Croatia. 
258 


A  WOMAN'S  HATRED.  259 

the  midst  of  their  lively  discussion  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door  and  Rideghváry  entered.  Both  of  the 
Plankenhorst  ladies  hastened  to  meet  him,  greeted 
him  with  loud  congratulations,  and  seated  him  in  an 
armchair.  Then  for  the  first  time  they  noticed  how 
pale  he  looked. 

"What  news  from  the  front  "i  "  asked  the  baroness 
eagerly. 

"Bad  news,"  he  replied  ;  "we  have  lost  the  battle 
of  Isaszeg." 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Antoinette. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  declared  the  other. 

"But  why  are  you  so  certain  of  it .'' "  asked  Al- 
fonsine.  "  People  are  so  easily  deceived  by  false 
rumours." 

Rideghváry  threw  a  searching  glance  at  the 
speaker.  "  It  is  more  than  a  rumour.  Miss  Alfonsine," 
said  he  with  emphasis.  "  What  I  tell  you  is  the 
truth.  The  messenger  who  brought  the  news  was 
on  the  spot  when  Otto  Palvicz  fell." 

The  colour  suddenly  faded  from  the  young  lady's 
cheeks. 

"Otto  Palvicz.^"  repeated  Sister  Remigia.  No 
one  else  uttered  the  name. 

"Yes,"  returned  Rideghváry,  "the  courier  who 
was  despatched  to  us  was  an  eye-witness  of  the 
encounter  between  Otto  Palvicz  and  Richard  Barad- 
lay.     They  aimed  their  swords  at  each  other's  heads 


260  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

both  at  the  same  time,  and  both  fell  at  the  same 
mstant   from  their  horses." 

There  were  now  two  pale  faces  turned  anxiously 
toward  the  speaker,  who  continued  with  cruel  delib- 
eration : 

"  Baradlay  still  lives  ;  Otto  Palvicz  is  dead." 

Edith  sank  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  folded 
her  hands  as  one  who  gives  thanks  in  silence, 
while  Alfonsine,  her  features  convulsed  with  rage 
and  despair,  sprang  up  from  her  chair  and  stood 
looking  down  wildly  upon  the  speaker.  Her 
mother  turned  to  her  in  alarm.  Was  she  about 
to  betray  her  carefully  guarded  secret .-'  But  the 
girl  cared  little  then  what  she  said  or  who  heard  her. 

"  Cursed  be  he  who  killed  Otto  Palvicz  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, with  an  ungovernable  outburst  of  passion  ; 
and  then,  overcome  by  her  feelings,  she  sank  down  on 
the  sofa,  sobbing  violently.  "  Oh,  my  dear  Otto  !  " 
she  moaned,  and  then,  turning  again  to  Rideghváry : 
"  There  is  no  one  in  this  city  or  in  the  whole  world 
that  can  hate  better  than  you  and  I.  You  know  all : 
you  have  seen  me  and  heard  me.  Is  there  any 
retribution  in  this  world  }  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Rideghváry. 

"  Find  it  for  me,  even  if  hell  itself  has  to  be 
searched  for  it.     Do  you  understand  me  .-'  " 

"We  both  understand  each  other,"  was  the  quiet 
reply. 


A    WOMAN'S  HATRED.  26 1 

"  And  if  at  any  time  your  hatred  slumbers  or  your 
zeal  slackens,  come  to  me." 

"  Never  fear,"  returned  Rideghváry  ;  we  shall  see 
ourselves  revenged  in  good  time  —  though  the 
heavens  fall.  We  will  turn  all  Hungary  into  such  a 
scene  of  mourning  as  will  live  in  the  memory  of  three 
generations.  For  the  next  ten  years  black  shall  be 
the  fashionable  colour  to  wear.  I  hate  my  country, 
every  blade  of  grass  that  grows  in  its  soil,  every  infant 
at  its  mother's  breast.  And  now  you  know  me  as  I 
know  you.  Whenever  we  have  need  of  each  other's 
aid,  we  shall  not  fail  to  lend  it." 

So  saying,  he  took  his  hat  and  departed  without 
bowing  to  any  one  in  the  room. 

Sister  Remigia,  as  in  duty  bound,  sought  to  admin- 
ister spiritual  consolation  and  advice  to  Alfonsine. 
"Throw  yourself  in  your  affliction  on  Heaven's 
mercy,"  said  she  with  unction,  "and  God  will  not 
fail  to  strengthen  and  console  you." 

Alfonsine  turned  upon  her  with  a  wild  look.  "  I 
ask  nothing  of  Heaven's  mercy,"  she  retorted  ;  "  I 
have  ceased  to  pray." 

The  nun  folded  her  hands  piously  and  sought  to 
soothe  the  passionate  young  woman.  "  Remember," 
she  urged,  "  that  you  are  still  a  Christian." 

"I  am  a  Christian  no  longer,"  returned  the  other. 
"  I  am  a  woman  no  longer.  Just  as  there  are  crea- 
tures on  earth  who  cease  to  be  women,  call  them- 


202  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

selves  nuns,  and  do  nothing  but  pray,  so  there  are 
others  that  cease  to  be  women  and  do  nothing  but 
curse  —  or  worse  if  they  can." 

Sister  Remigia,  shocked  by  these  impious  words, 
which  it  was  sacrilege  even  to  listen  to,  gathered  up 
her  cloak  and  hastened  to  depart,  motioning  to  Edith 
to  follow.  But  Alfonsine  barred  the  young  girl's 
way  and  held  her  back. 

"  You  are  not  to  return  to  the  convent,"  said  she  ; 
"  you  will  stay  here  with  us." 

The  pious  nun  did  not  stop  to  remonstrate.  She 
was  only  too  glad  to  escape  from  the  house. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  kept  you .-' "  asked 
Alfonsine,  when  the  other  had  gone.  "  I  have  kept 
you  in  order  that  I  may  whisper  in  your  ear  every 
night,  when  you  lie  down  to  sleep  :  '  I  will  kill  him. 
The  man  you  love  has  murdered  the  man  whom  I 
love,  and  the  murderer  must  die.'  You  shall  taste 
the  despair  that  embitters  my  heart.  You  shall  not 
be  happy  while  I  am  miserable." 

She  threw  herself  into  an  armchair,  weeping  pas- 
sionately, and  Edith  sought  her  okhroom. 

^^^  txL^u^  //  ^^  ^c^\^pi^  ^^  tilt  iUci^- 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A    DUEL    BETWEEN    BROTHERS. 

A  WHOLE  nation's  gaze  was  turned  toward  the 
fortress  of  Buda.  There  it  stood,  weak  when  it  came 
to  self-defence,  yet  capable  of  working  fearful  destruc- 
tion in  case  of  attack.  From  the  summits  of  the 
surrounding  mountains  one  could  overlook  Buda  and 
examine  its  interior  as  if  it  had  been  an  open  book. 
Old  brick  walls  formed  its  sole  fortifications,  with  no 
outworks  of  any  sort. 

Wherein,  then,  lay  its  mysterious  strength .''  In 
the  fact  that  Pest  lay  outstretched  at  its  feet,  and  for 
every  cannon-ball  directed  against  the  fortress  it 
could  retaliate  with  a  deadly  shower  of  fire  and  iron. 
The  enemy  on  the  hill  said  to  his  foe  across  the  river  : 
"  If  you  draw  your  sword  against  me  I  will  slay  your 
wife  and  daughters  and  the  infant  in  its  cradle." 
Nevertheless  the  sword  was  drawn. 

For  the  fiery  and  impetuous,  nothing  tries  the 
patience  more  than  the  forced  inactivity  of  a  siege,  — 
the  sitting  down  before  a  blank  wall  from  behind 
which  the  enemy  sticks  out  his  tongue  and  laughs  in 

263 


264  T//E   BAA' OAT'S  SOA'S. 

derision.  Before  three  days  had  passed,  nine-tenths 
of  the  besieging  army  had  become  fretful  with  im- 
patience. The  men  were  eager  to  storm  the  enemy's 
strongliold  on  all  sides.  Even  in  the  council  of  war 
the  spirit  of  impatience  was  rife  and  the  commanding 
general  was  urged  to  order  an  assault.  Violent 
scenes  were  enacted,  in  which  the  best  friends  fell  to 
quarrelling.  All  were  divided  between  two  parties, 
the  hot-headed  and  the  cool-headed.  Thus  it  came 
about  that  the  two  Baradlay  brothers,  Ödön  and 
Richard,  found  themselves  opposed  to  each  other  in 
the  council,  and  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  siege  they 
went  so  far  as  to  exchange  hot  and  angry  words. 

"  We  must  bring  the  siege  to  an  end,"  declared  the 
younger  brother,  vehemently. 

"And  I  say,"  rejoined  the  elder,  "that  we  have 
but  just  begun  it  and  must  wait  for  our  heavier  guns 
before  we  can  think'  of  making  an  assault.  Other- 
wise we  shall  provoke  a  deadly  fire  on  Pest,  and  all  to 
no  purpose." 

"What  is  Pest  to  us  in  this  crisis  .-'  "  cried  Richard. 
"Ten  years  ago  the  great  flood  destroyed  the  city, 
and  we  rebuilt  it.  Let  the  enemy  burn  it  down  ;  in 
ten  years  it  will  have  risen  from  its  ashes,  more  beau- 
tiful than  ever." 

"  Yet  even  at  that  fearful  sacrifice  are  we  at  all 
sure  that  we  can  take  the  fortress .''  Can  we  scale  its 
heights  in  the  face  of  the  enemy's  fire  ? " 


A    DUEL    BETWEEN  BROTHERS.  265 

"  Yes.  A  subterranean  channel,  constructed  by 
the  Turks,  runs  from  Buda  down  to  the  river. 
Through  this  a  company  of  infantry  could  make  its 
way  into  the  fort  while  a  hot  attack  was  maintained 
from  without." 

"I  have  studied  the  situation,  too,"  returned  Ödön, 
"  and  I  have  learned  positively  that  the  upper  end 
of  the  subterranean  passage  is  in  ruins  ;  but  even  if 
it  were  not,  and  a  company  of  our  men  succeeded  in 
effecting  an  entrance,  would  they  not,  in  all  proba- 
bility, be  cut  down  before  they  could  open  the  gates 
to  us  or  we  could  join  them  .-' " 

"  Do  you,  then,  place  no  confidence  whatever  in 
the  courage  and  determination  of  our  soldiers  'i " 
asked  the  other. 

"On  the  contrary,"  was  the  reply;  "but  even 
courage  and  determination  cannot  prevail  against 
such  overwhelming  odds." 

Richard's  eyes  flashed  fire.  He  was  in  that  tense 
and  irritated  condition  in  which  a  man  feels  that  he 
must  utter  a  sharp  retort  or  burst  with  passion. 
"You  say  that,"  he  exclaimed  hotly,  "because,  like 
all  civilians,  you  are  a  coward  at  heart." 

No  sooner  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  than 
he  regretted  them.  Ödön  turned  pale.  "  No  man 
ever  before  applied  that  term  to  me,"  said  he,  in  a 
low  but  firm  tone,  regarding  his  brother  steadily, 
"nor  shall  you  do  so  with  impunity." 


266  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

This  scene  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  twelve- 
pound  cannon-ball  which  burst  through  the  west  wall 
of  the  room  and  went  out  through  the  opposite  side. 
A  second  shot  struck  the  roof,  and  then  a  bomb 
landed  in  the  courtyard  and  exploded. 

"There  is  treason  abroad  !  "  cried  the  members  of 
the  council,  springing  to  their  feet.  "  Some  one  has 
betrayed  our  headquarters  to  the  enemy,  and  we  are 
being  fired  upon." 

"  We  can't  stay  here  a  moment  longer,  that's  cer- 
tain," said  the  commanding  officer,  and  he  prepared 
to  leave  the  room. 

Richard  looked  at  his  brother,  who  alone  kept  his 
seat  at  the  table,  a  pen  in  his  hand,  and  gave  no  sign 
of  leaving  his  chair,  despite  the  crashing  of  the 
enemy's  shots.  The  younger  brother  was  irritated 
at  what  seemed  to  him  ostentatious  recklessness  ;  and 
he  was,  besides,  touched  with  another  feeling  toward 
his  elder  brother. 

"Come,  old  man,"  said  he,  "I  know  well  enough 
you  have  nerve  for  anything ;  but  don't  stay  here 
now  that  all  the  rest  of  us  are  leaving." 

"  I  am  sitting  here,"  replied  the  other  calmly, 
"because  I  am  secretary  of  the  council,  and  T  am 
waiting  to  record  the  motion  to  adjourn,  whenever  it 
shall  be  made." 

"He  is  right,"  exclaimed  the  others;  "we  must 
adjourn  the  meeting  in  due  form." 


A    DUEL   BE  TWEE JV  BROTHERS.  267 

Accordingly  all  resumed  their  places  around  the 
table,  while  cannon-balls  continued  to  strike  the  build- 
iijg,  and  a  formal  vote  was  taken  on  the  motion  to 
adjourn.  It  was  carried  unanimously,  and  all  hurried 
out  of  the  room  except  Ödön,  who  lingered  behind  to 
complete  his  minutes.  Richard,  too,  remained  at  the 
door  until  his  brother  was  ready  to  go. 

"  Come,  hurry  up  !  "  he  urged  ;  "  every  one  knows 
you  are  a  man  of  courage.  Coward  is  the  last  word 
to  apply  to  you." 

Ödön,  however,  folded  his  papers  deliberately. 
"  On  that  point  I  shall  have  something  to  say  to 
you  later,"  said  he  calmly,  freeing  his  arm  from  his 
brother's  touch  as  he  walked  out. 

"  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  challenofe  me  to  a 
duel }  "  exclaimed  Richard. 

"  You  will  süDTt  3C0,"  -replied  the  other,  turning 
proudly  away. 

The  order  for  a  general  assault  had  been  given. 
At  midnight  of  the  21st  of  May,  a  sham  attack  was 
to  be  made  against  the  bastions,  after  which  the 
troops  were  to  retire  and  remain  quiet  until  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Then,  while  the  enemy 
were  counting  confidently  on  being  left  undisturbed 
for  another  day,  a  vigorous  assault  was  to  be  under- 
taken in  earnest,  with  scaling-ladders  and  bayonets. 

The  hardest  part  would  fall  to  those  who  should 


^^^^  '^„'^^ 


268  T//E  BARON'S  SONS. 

charge  over  the  crumbhng  masonry  where  breaches 
had  been  effected,  or  mount  the  tall  scaling-ladders 
mider  a  deadly  fire  from  above.  For  these  most 
dangerous  tasks  the  bravest  and  most  experienced 
battalions  were  selected,  while  volunteers  were  called 
for  from  the  whole  army  to  join  them.  The  honour 
of  being  among  the  first  to  scale  the  hostile  ramparts 
was  eagerly  sought  by  hundreds  of  brave  men. 

On  the  evening  preceding  the  assault,  Ödön  Barad- 
lay  sought  his  brother.  Since  their  recent  encounter 
in  the  council-chamber  they  had  not  met,  and  their 
relations  were  felt  to  be  somewhat  strained.  Richard 
was  delighted  to  see  his  brother ;  he  acknowledged 
in  his  heart  that  the  other  showed  great  generosity  in 
thus  making  the  first  advances,  and  he  gave  him  a  very 
cordial  reception.  Ödön's  bearing,  however,  was  as 
calm  and  undemonstrative  as  usual.  He  was  dressed, 
in  the  uniform  of  the  national  guard. 

"So  to-morrow  is  the  decisive  day,"  he  remarked 
as  he  entered. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  other;  "a  sham  attack  to- 
night at  twelve,  and  a  general  assault  just  before 
dawn." 

"  Is  your  watch  right .-"  "  asked  Ödön. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  pay  much  attention  to  the  time,"  was 
the  answer,  in  a  careless  tone ;  "  when  the  artillery 
gives  the  signal  I  know  the  dance  is  about  to 
begin." 


A    DUEL    BETWEEN  BROTHERS.  269 

"  You  are  not  well-informed,"  rejoined  Ödön. 
"  Half  an  hour  before  the  first  cannon-shot,  the  volun- 
teers from  the  third  army-corps  who  are  to  attack 
the  great  bastion  must  be  ready  to  start,  and  also 
those  from  the  second  army-corps  who  are  to  scale 
the  wall  of  the  castle  garden.  So  it  will  be  well  for 
you  to  set  your  watch  by  mine,  which  agrees  with  the 
general's." 

"Very  well,  I'll  do  it."  Richard  still  maintained 
a  certain  condescending  superiority  in  his  manner 
toward  his  brother,  as  is  customary  in  the  bearing  of 
seasoned  soldiers  toward  civilians,  however  greatly 
they  may  esteem  the  latter. 

"And  now  please  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say," 
continued  Ödön,  with  his  usual  calm.  "  You  have 
allowed  yourself  to  use  certain  words  in  addressing 
me  which  I  cannot  repeat  even  between  ourselves." 

"What  do  you  mean.''"  interposed  the  other. 
"  You  surely  don't  think  of  calling  me  out  .-' " 

"That  is  my  intention,"  replied  the  elder  brother 
composedly.  "  I  challenge  you  to  the  most  desperate 
duel  ever  fought  between  two  men,  to' the  only  duel 
that  brothers  can  engage  in  who  love  each  other,  and 
yet  cannot  be  reconciled  by  peaceful  means.  You 
have  joined  the  volunteers  who  are  to  storm  the 
castle  garden  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  ;  I  am 
enrolled  among  those  whose  task  it  will  be  to  carry 
the  main  bastion  by  scaling-ladders.      When  the  first 


9tl 


\ 


/ 


^ 


,f 


270  THE  BARON'S  SONS.      <//^ 

cannon-shot  is  fired  our  duel  will  begin,  and  he  who 
first  mounts  the  enemy's  fortifications  will  have 
obtained  satisfaction  from  the  other." 

Richard  seized  his  brother's  hand  with  a  look  of 
alarm.  "Brother,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  joking; 
you  are  trying  to  frighten  me.  That  you,  who  have 
more  sense  in  your  little  finger  than  a  great  bully 
like  me  in  his  whole  head,  should  rush  to  almost 
certain  destruction,  where  some  blockhead  of  an 
Austrian  may  easily  brain  you  with  the  butt  end  of 
his  rifle ;  that  you  should  go  scrambling  up  the 
ladders  with  the  militia,  where  the  first  to  mount  are 
X/well-nigh  sure  to  meet  their  death,  and  where  no  one 
can  rush  in  to  save  you  ;  that  you,  the  pride  of  our 
family,  the  apple  of  our  eye,  our  mother's  sujDport, 
our  country's  hope,  should  throw  yourself  against 
the  enemy's  bayonets,  —  oh,  that  is  a  cruel  punish- 
ment you  have  planned  for  me !  No  one  demands 
such  a  proof  of  your  courage.  War  is  not  your 
profession  ;  that  is  for  us  rough  men  who  are  good 
for  nothing  else.  You  are  the  soul  of  our  army  ; 
don't  try  to  be  its  hand  or  its  foot  at  the  same  time. 
We  honour  superior  intelligence,  however  much  we 
may  boast  of  our  physical  prowess.  Don't  think  of 
taking  such  a  revenge  on  those  who  love  you,  just 
because  of  a  hasty  word,  long  since  repented  of  and 
retracted.  Do  what  you  will  with  me  if  you  still  feel 
offended  ;  bid  me   ram  my  head   into  the  mouth  of 


A   DUEL   BETWEEN  BROTHERS.  2']\ 

one  of  the  enemy's  cannon  and  I  will  do  it.  Tell 
me  you  only  meant  to  frighten  me  —  that  you  are 
not  in  earnest." 

"  I  am  in  earnest,  and  shall  do  as  I  have  said," 
answered  the  other  firmly ;  "  you  may  do  as  you 
think  best."    With  that  he  prepared  to  take  his  leave. 

Richard  tried  to  stop  him.  "  Ödön,  brother,"  he 
cried,  "  I  pray  you  forgive  me !  Think  of  our 
mother,  think   of  your  wife  and  children  !  " 

Ödön  regarded  him,  unmoved.  "  I  am  thinking 
of  my  mother  here,"  said  he,  stamping  with  his  foot 
on  the  ground,  "and  I  shall  defend  my  wife  and 
children  yonder,"  pointing  toward  the  fortress. 

Richard  stood  out  of  his  brother's  way ;  further 
opposition  would  have  been  worse  than  useless.  But 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  reached  out  both  his 
hands  toward  Ödön.  At  such  a  moment  the  brothers 
might  well  have  embraced  each  other,  yet  Ödön 
never  offered  his  hand.  Before  a  duel  the  adversaries 
are  not  wont  to  shake  hands. 

"When  we  meet  up  yonder,"  said  he  signifi- 
cantly, "don't  forget  to  look  at  your  watch  and 
note  the  minute  when  you  first  plant  your  foot  on  the 
fortifications."     With  that  he  left  the  room. 

Three  o'clock  was  at  hand.  The  cannoneers  stood 
at  their  guns,  watches  in  hand.  A  deep  and  peaceful 
quiet  reigned,  broken  only  by  the  note  of  the  night- 


272  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

ingale.  At  the  first  stroke  of  three,  fifty-nine  can- 
non burst  forth  in  one  thundering  volley  which  was 
caught  up  by  the  loud  huzzas  of  thousands  of  voices 
on  every  side.  The  sun  was  still  far  below  the 
horizon,  but  the  scene  was  soon  illumined  by  the 
destructive  fire  of  hostile  artillery.  In  the  glare  of 
bombs  and  rockets  the  volunteers  of  the  thirty-fourth 
militia  battalion  could  be  seen,  like  a  hill  of  ants, 
swarming  up  toward  the  breach  in  the  enemy's  wall. 
They  were  driven  back,  and  again  they  advanced, 
fighting  with  their  bayonets  in  a  hand-to-hand  strug- 
gle. A  second  time  they  were  repulsed,  and  their 
ofiiicers  were  left,  dead  and  dying,  before  the  breach. 

Two  other  battalions,  the  nineteenth  and  thirty- 
seventh,  with  the  volunteers  who  had  joined  them, 
pressed  forward  with  their  scaling-ladders.  A  hot 
fire  was  opened  upon  them,  but  in  vain  ;  they  planted 
their  ladders  against  the  wall  and  ran  up  the  rounds. 
To  turn  them  back  was  impossible  ;  the  only  thing 
remaining  was  to  shoot  them  down  as  fast  as  they 
climbed  the  ladders. 

Leading  the  way  on  one  of  the  ladders  was  Ödön 
Baradlay,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  A  detach- 
ment of  the  Italian  regiment  was  defending  that  part 
of  the  wall,  and  the  defence  was  well  maintained.  It 
was  a  grim  task  climbing  the  ladders  in  the  face  of  a 
deadly  fire  of  sharpshooters,  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  the  groans  of   those  that  fell.     Theirs   was  a 


A   DUEL   BETWEEN  BROTHERS.  2/3 

twofold  death,  shot  down  as  they  were  by  the  enemy, 
and  then  falling,  only  to  be  caught  on  the  bayonets 
of  their  own  comrades  behind  them. 

Ödön  mounted  his  ladder  as  coolly  as  if  he  had 
been  climbing  an  Egyptian  pyramid  on  a  wager  to 
show  himself  proof  against  giddiness.  Looking  up, 
he  could  see  a  soldier  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
ladder,  half  concealed  by  the  breastworks  and  hold- 
ing his  rifle  ready  to  shoot.  That  soldier  was  his 
opponent  in  this  fearful  duel.  Reaching  the  middle 
of  the  ladder,  he  suddenly  heard  himself  hailed  from 
below.     The  voice  was  a  familiar  one. 

"  Aha,  patron,  I'm  here  too  !  " 

Ödön  recognised  Mausmann's  call.  The  daring 
gymnast  was  climbing  up  the  under  side  of  the  ladder 
and  making  every  effort  to  overtake  his  leader,  eager 
to  gain  the  top  before  him.  With  the  agility  of  a 
monkey,  he  passed  Ödön  and  swung  himself  around 
on  the  front  of  the  ladder  over  the  other's  head, 
shouting  down  to  him  triumphantly  : 

"  Don't  think  you  are  going  to  get  ahead  of  me, 
patron.  I  am  captain  here,  and  you  are  only  a 
private." 

Ödön  was  eager  to  recover  his  lead,  but  the  gal- 
lant youth  only  pressed  him  back  with  one  hand, 
saying,  as  he  did  so  : 

"  Let  me  go  first,  patron  ;  I  have  no  one  in  the 
whole  world  to  care  if  I  am  killed." 


2jAr  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

With  that  he  sprang  upward,  two  rounds  at  a  time. 
The  soldier  above  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder 
and  aimed  downward.  Mausmann  saw  him,  and 
shouted  tauntingly : 

"Take  good  aim,  macaroni,  or  you  might  hit  me." 

The  next  moment  the  Italian  pulled  the  trigger. 
Mausmann's  hands  relaxed  their  hold  of  the  ladder. 
"  Look  out !  "  he  called  down  to  Ödön. 

"What's  the  matter  }  "  returned  the  other. 

"  Something  that  never  happened  to  me  before  ; 
I  am  killed."  Therewith  he  fell  backward  over 
Ödön's  head. 

Ödön  now  climbed  higher,  anxious  to  reach  the 
top  of  the  ladder  before  the  Italian  should  have  re- 
loaded his  piece.  But  the  soldier  was  too  quick  for 
him,  and  he  found  himself  looking  into  the  very 
muzzle  of  his  rifle.  Still  he  mounted.  He  could 
see  the  rifleman's  finger  press  the  trigger ;  the  piece 
missed  fire,  and  the  next  instant  Ödön  sprang  over 
the  breastworks. 

Meanwhile  the  sixty-first  battalion  had  effected  an 
entrance  into  the  castle  garden.  Three  step-like 
terraces  remained  to  be  surmounted,  and  the  men 
climbed  -  one  another's  shoulders  or  stuck  their 
bayonets  between  the  stones  of  the  scarp,  and  so 
worked  their  way  upward.  The  defenders  of  the 
garden  had  retreated  to  the  third  terrace.     As  the 


A   DUEL   BETWEEN  BROTHERS.  2/5 

Hungarians  were  about  to  scale  this  also,  they  were 
suddenly  brought  to  bay  by  the  arrival  of  a  fresh 
force  of  the  enemy.  It  included  some  of  the  bravest 
soldiers  of  the  army,  being  composed  of  four  platoons 
of  the  William  regiment. 

On  the  second  terrace  of  the  castle  garden  the 
two  hostile  bands  met  in  desperate  conflict. 

"  Surrender  !  "  called  the  militia  major. 

"  Fire  !  Charge  bayonets  !  "  was  the  Austrian  cap- 
tain's response,  as  he  gave  the  commands  to  his  men. 

A  volley  was  discharged  on  each  side.  The 
Austrian  captain  and  his  lieutenant  fell,  while  the 
Hungarian  major  and  one  of  his  officers  were  wounded. 
Neither  party  heeded  its  loss.  Richard  snatched  up 
the  rifle  of  a  wounded  soldier  and  dashed  forward  to 
meet  the  enemy.  He  was  a  master  of  bayonet  fight- 
ing, ^d  he  resolved  that,  if  he  had  to  succumb  at 
last  to  superior  numbers,  he  would  at  least  sell  his 
life  dearly. 

An  inner  v¥)ice  seemed  to  whisper  to  him  that  he 
was  fighting  his  last  battle.  What  if  he  slew  ten 
opponents  in  succession  }  The  eleventh  would  surely 
get  the  better  of  him  and  he  must  fall.  At  this 
thought,  and  in  the  thousandth  part  of  a  second,  he 
took  leave  of  all  that  was  dear  to  him,  —  of  the  faith- 
ful girl  awaiting  him  in  Vienna,  of  the  dear  mother 
praying  for  him  at  home,  of  the  slain  foe  to  whom  he 
had  given  a  promise  that  he  could  not  now  fulfil.      He 


276         S"^"^         ^^^^^   BAIWN'S  SONS. 

saw  only  too  well  the  fearful  odds  against  him,  and 
prepared  to  die. 

His  first  adversary  he  sent  headlong  down  the 
embankment  ;  the  second  he  drove  back  wounded 
into  his  comrades'  arms  ;  the  third  stopped  suddenly 
as  he  was  rushing  to  the  encounter  and  pointed  with 
his  bayonet  to  the  terrace  above  them.  A  dense  array 
of  flashing  bayonets  was  seen  advancing,  and  it  was  at 
once  evident  that  the  side  which  they  should  join  would 
win  the'day.     To  which  side,  then,  did  they  belong .-' 

The  rising  sun  answered  the  question.  Shooting 
its  beams  from  behind  a  cloud  at  that  moment,  it 
lighted  up  a  banner  fluttering  in  the  advancing 
bayonet-hedge.  The  flag  bore  the  national  colours 
of  Hungary. 

"  Éljen  a  Jiaza  !  "  resounded  from  the  third  terrace, 
and  the  relief  party  plunged  down  the  scarp  -iike  an 
avalanche.  The  Austrians,  thus  overwhelmed  by 
their  opponents,  were  forced  to  surrender. 

Yonder  blue-coated  figure  which  had  come  with 
this  succour  like  a  rescuing  angel,  just  at  the  moment 
when  aid  was  most  sorely  needed,  was  Ödön  Baradlay. 
The  two  brothers  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

"I  am  very  angry  with  you,"  cried  Richard,  as  he 
folded  his  brother  in  a  warm  embrace. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  From  every 
turret  and  pinnacle  in  Buda  the  tricolour  waved  in 


A   DUEL   BETWEEN  BROTHERS.  2"/ J 

the  breeze,  and  all  the  streets  of  Pest  rang  with  loud 
huzzas.  Turning  his  back,  however,  on  these  scenes 
of  rejoicing,  Richard  Baradlay,  refreshed  by  a  cold 
bath  and  a  soldier's  breakfast,  made  his  way  to  a 
neighbouring  village,  to  fulfil  the  promise  so  solemnly 
pledged  to  poor  Otto  Palvicz. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

zebulon's  bright  idea. 

Three  thousand  six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea- 
level,  on  a  height  of  the  Caq^athian  mountain  range, 
a  convivial  party,  consisting  mostly  of  army  officers, 
was  enjoying  itself  with  wine  and  music.  A  splendid 
view  lay  spread  out  before  the  merrymakers,  —  a 
wide-reaching  landscape  lighted  by  the  slanting  beams 
of  the  western  sun  as  it  sank  in  golden  radiance 
beneath  the  horizon. 

"  Look  there,"  Rideghváry  was  saying,  as  he 
named,  one  after  another,  the  cities  and  villages  that 
lay  before  them  ;  "  yonder  lies  the  way  to  Constanti- 
nople." 

His  words  were  greeted  with  a  shout  :  "  Hurrah  ! 
Long  live  the  Czar!"  Glasses  clinked,  and  the 
company  struck  up  the  Russian  national  anthem. 
Rideghváry  joined  in,  and  all  uncovered  during  the 
singing. 

"  Don't  you  sing  with  us,  Zebulon  .'' "  asked  Ri- 
deghváry, turning  to  his  friend,  who  sat  silent  and 
melancholy. 

278 


ZEBULON'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  2/9 

"  No  more  voice  than  a  peacock,"  was  Zebulon's 
curt  reply. 

The  crags  about  them  gave  back  the  tuneful  notes, 
while  far  below  the  long  line  of  Russian  cavalry- 
regiments,  on  their  march  from  the  north,  caught  up 
the  song. 

"  See  there  !  "  cried  Rideghváry  to  Zebulon,  point- 
ing to  the  troops  as  they  wound  their  way  south- 
ward toward  the  heart  of  Hungary;  "now  comes 
our  triumph ;  now  we  shall  tread  our  foes  under 
our  feet.  No  power  on  earth  can  withstand  our 
might."  His  face  beamed  with  exultation  as  he 
spoke. 

Zebulon  Tallérossy  was  out  of  humour.  His  present 
part  had  pleased  him  so  long  as  he  had  nothing  to  do 
but  travel  about  with  his  patron,  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  foreign  celebrities,  and  receive  honours  and 
attentions  wherever  he  went.  That,  he  thought,  was 
the  fitting  occupation  of  a  great  statesman,  and  he 
had  looked  to  this  same  kind  of  statesmanship  to 
bring  everything  to  a  quiet  and  orderly  conclusion. 
But  when  he  saw  that  matters  were  not  destined  to 
flow  on  so  harmoniously  much  longer,  he  fell  out  of 
conceit  with  his  role  of  statesman. 

Returning  with  Rideghváry  to  the  towi>  that  lay 
beneath  them  in  the  valley,  he  gave  his  friend  and 
patron  a  hint  of  his  dissatisfaction.  "Yes,"  said  he, 
"  she  is  a  mighty  power,  —  Russia  ;  I  don't  know  who 


/ 


280  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

could  withstand  her.  But  what  will  be  the  fate  of 
the  conquered  ?  " 

"  VcB  victis  —  woe  to  the  vanquished  !  "  returned 
the  other  sententiously. 

"Well  then,"  continued  honest  Zebulon,  "let  us 
suppose  a  case  :  what  about  such  a  man  as  Ödön 
Baradlay,  whom  we  and  all  his  countrymen  esteem 
and  love,  and  who,  if  his  zeal  has  led  him  a  little  too 
far,  has  yet  been  influenced  by  none  but  the  loftiest 
motives,  —  what  will  be  done  to  him  ?  A'  good  man, 
fine  talents,  sure  to  be  a  credit  to  his  country  —  he 
ought  to  be  spared." 

"  Mitgefangen,  mitgeJiangen,''  ^  quoted  Rideghváry 
briefly. 

For  the  rest  of  the  drive  Zebulon  was  silent. 

In  the  evening,  as  Rideghváry  was  looking  over  the 
passport  blanks  which  he  kept  in  one  of  the  pigeon- 
holes of  his  desk,  he  missed  the  very  one  to  which  he 
attached  the  greatest  value.  It  was  an  English  pass- 
port with  the  official  signature  and  stamp  of  the 
ambassadors  of  all  the  intervening  countries,  the 
name  and  description  of  the  bearer  being  alone  left 
blank.  Such  forms  were  commonly  held  in  readiness 
for  secret  missions.  No__onc_  could  have  _taken  the 
missing  paper  except  Zebulon ;  and  when  he  had 
reached  this  conchision,  Rideghváry  smiled. 


In  his  comings  and  goings,  the  great  man  always 

'  Caught  with  the  rest,  hung  with  the  rest. 


ZEBULON'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  28  I 

took  his  friend  with  him.  But  how  explain  the  friend- 
ship which  he  manifested  for  him  ?  Easily  enough. 
Rideghváry  was  not  a  master  of  the  common  people's 
language,  and  it  was  the  common  people  that  he 
wished  to  reach.  Zebulon  was  their  oracle,  their 
favourite  orator.  One  needed  but  to  give  him  a 
theme,  and  he  could  hold  his  simple  auditors  spell- 
bound by  the  hour.  In  his  expeditions,  therefore, 
Rideghváry  knew  that  his  honest  friend  would  be 
indispensable  to  hiniwhen  it  came  to  persuading 
the  good  people  that  the  invading  hosts  which  passed 
through  their  viTlages  were~Tiar~efremies,  but  frieTicls, 
allies,  and  brothers.  That,  then,  was  to  be  Zebulon' s 
mission,  and  he  already  suspected  as  much  ;  but  he 
had  no  heart  for  the  task  before  him.  Ridegh- 
váry, in  his  concern  lest  he  should  lose  his  spokes- 
man, hardly  let  him  go  out  of  his  sight,  and  even 
shared  the  same  room  with  him  at  night  ;  otherwise 
he  might  have  found  himself  some  morning  without 
his  mouthpiece. 

Zebulon  racked  his  brains  for  a  plan  of  escape  from 
his  illustrious  patron,  but  all  in  vain.  The  patron 
was  too  fond  of  him.  He  had  even  tried  to  pick  a 
quarrel  with  Rideghváry  ;  but  the  other  would  not 
so  much  as  lose  his  temper.  Since  their  last  talk, 
however,  Zebulon  was  more  than  ever  determined  to 
shake  off  his  affectionate  friend. 

"  If    you    won't    let    me    run    away    from    you," 


IC^L/UJ*'"'^-      C^C'^  '  -^tyi  > 


282  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

said  he  to  himself,  "  I  will  make  you  run  away  from 
me." 

He  had  been  pondering  a  scheme  of  his  own  ever 
since  he  chanced  to  see  a  Cossack  eating  raw  cucum- 
bers on  an  empty  stomach.  The  Cossack  plucked 
the  cucumbers  in  a  garden,  and  munched  them  with 
the  greatest  apparent  relish.  The  plan  was  further 
developed  as  he  watched  the  preparation  of  a  dainty 
dish  for  the  epicures  of  the  Russian  camp.  Turnips 
and  beets  were  cut  up  together,  mixed  with  bran, 
and  then  boiled  in  an  immense  kettle,  the  finishmg 
touch  being  added  by  dipping  a  pound  of  tallow  cah- 
dles  into  the  steaming  mixture.  The  candles  came 
out  thinner,  to  be  sure,  but  were  still  serviceable  for 
illumination,  while  the  stew  was  rendered  perfect. 

Zebulon's  scheme  attained  to  full  development 
when  the  cholera  broke  out  so  fiercely  in  the  Russian 
army  that  even  a  disastrous  battle  could  hardly  have 
wrought  greater  havoc.  Rideghváry  was  mortally 
afraid  of  the  cholera,  carried  in  his  bosom  a  little  bag 
of  camphor,  wore  flannel  over  his  abdomen,  shook 
flowers  of  sulphur  into  his  boots,  always  disinfected 
his  room  with  chloride  of  lime,  drank  red  wine  in 
the  evening  and  arrack  in  the  morning,  and  chewed 
juniper  berries  during  the  day. 

On  this  weakness  of  the  illustrious  man  Zebulon 
counted  largely  for  the  success  of  his  scheme.  En- 
tering a  druggist's  shop  one  evening,  he  asked  for  an 


ZEBULON'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  283 

ounce  of  tartar  emetic.  The  apothecary  was  disin- 
chned  to  furnish  the  drug  without  a  physician's  order, 
but  Zebulon  cuf  his  objection  short. 

"  Doctor's  prescription  not  necessary,"  said  he 
sharply.  "  I  prescribe  for  myself  —  exceptional  case. 
If  I  say  I  must  have  it,  that's  enough."  And  he  re- 
ceived his  tartariis  emcticics,  divided  into  small  doses. 

In  the  night,  while  Rideghváry  was  asleep,  Zeb- 
ulon took  two  doses  of  his  emetic.  Honour  to  whom 
honour  is  due !  Every  man  has  his  own  peculiar 
kind  of  heroism.  In  Zebulon  it  was  an  heroic  deed 
to  bring  on  himself  an  artificial  attack  of  cholera  at 
a  critical  time  like  that.  But  his  scheme  worked  ad- 
mirably. The  audible  results  of  the  double  dose  of 
tartar  emetic  awakened  Rideghváry  from  his  slum- 
bers. With  one  leap  from  his  bed,  he  landed  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  ran  into  the  passageway, 
shouting  :  '-ilThe__clwkra_Ja_Jierej__^^ 
here !  "  He  left  his  clothes  lying  in  the  room,  and 
procured  tresh  ones  to  put  on.  Whatever  luggage 
ancT  papers  of  his  were  m  the  bedchamber,  he  order ed~ 
to  be  fumigated  before  he  would  touch  them.  Then, 
calling  for  his  carriage,  he  drove  out  of  the  town  in 
all  haste. 

Meanwhile,  Zebulon,  after  the  drug  had  done  its 
work,  went  to  sleep  again  and  snored  till  broad  day- 
light. With  this  salto  niortale  he  disappeared  from 
public  life. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

GOOD    OLD    FRIENDS. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  thirteenth  of  August. 
The  Hungarians  had  that  day  laid  down  their  arms. 
Ödön  Baradlay  sat  at  an  open  window  in  the  fad- 
ing twilight,  writing  letters  to  his  mother  and  his 
wife,  informing  them  that  he  should  await  his  fate 
where  he  was,  even  as  the  Roman  senators  had 
calmly  awaited  theirs,  sitting  in  their  curule  chairs 
and  scorning  to  fly  before  the  invader.  He  viewed 
the  situation  with  the  calmness  of  a  philosopher  and 
showed  none  of  the  feverish  uneasiness  of  those  who 
were  intent  only  on  their  own  personal  safety.  He 
had  not  even  thought  to  provide  himself  with  a  pass- 
port, as  so  many  of  his  associates  had  done. 

While  he  thus  sat,  writing  his  letters  and  heedless 
of  his  surroundings,  a  stranger  approached  him. 

"  Am  I  addressing  Ödön  Baradlay  ?"  he  asked. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  replied  Ödön.  "  May  I  ask 
yours  in  return  .-'  " 

"  My  name  is  "\^fntinff  Srhnfidfriu^^^_^^^g^^^'"^^ 
clergyman    of   Pukkersdorf.      I   have  brought  you  a 


%>JÍ/^  -^"•'    /''^-^^ 

GOOD    OLD   FRIENDS.  285 

letter,  but  am  in  haste  and  must  not  linger.  As 
long  as  the  Russians  are  in  our  rear  the  way  is  open  ; 
but  presently  it  will  be  closed."  He  delivered  his 
letter  and  withdrew. 

Ödön  broke  the  seal  and  read  : 

"  Dear  Friend,  —  I  shall  never  forget  the  ties 
that  unite  our  families.  Your  late  lamented  father 
was  my  friend,  and  nothing  could  now  induce  me  to 
look  on  and  see  the  destruction  of  a  true  patriot  like 
yourself.  Would  to  God  I  could  help  many  more ! 
I  send  you  an  English  passport,  all  signed  and  sealed, 
to  take  you  out  of  the  country.  Write  any  name 
you  choose  in  the  blank  space.  Bum  this. 
"  Your  old  friend, 

"  Zebulon   Tallerossy. 
"  P.  S.     Go  by  way  of  Poland  and  you  won't  be 
known.     When  safe,  think  of  your  country  ;  perhaps 
you  can  yet  do  something  for  your  poor  people. 

''Z.  T." 

Ödön  examined  the  passport  and  found  it  complete 
in  every  detail,  —  even  to  being  creased  and  soiled 
like  a  much-handled  document.  Then  he  threw  it 
down,  ashamed  at  the  thought  of  using  it  to  save  his 
life  when  so  many  of  his  comrades  in  arms  were  in 
danger  of  death  or  captivity.  Yet  the  mere  prospect 
of  safety  made  his  pulse  beat  more  rapidly,  and 
involuntarily  his  thoughts  turned  to  those  dear  ones 


286  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

at  home  who  looked  to  him  for  comfort  and  support, 
—  his  wife  and  two  little  children. 

He  read  once  more  the  last  words  of  Zebulon's 
postscript  ;  they  showed  no  little  shrewdness  on  the 
writer's  part.  What  if  he  could  really  secure  aid  for 
his  country  abroad .''  The  temptation  was  too  great. 
He  took  up  the  passport  again  and  glanced  at  the 
signatures  on  its  back.  Among  them  was  Ridegh- 
váry's.  No,  that  man  should  never  enjoy  the 
triumph  of  hissing  in  his  ear  :  "  This  is  the  last  step 
to  that  height  !  " 

He  burned  Zebulon's  letter,  as  well  as  the  two  he 
had  >ust  written  to  his  wife  and  his  mother,  and, 
summoning  his  servant,  bade  him  hasten  to  Nemes- 
domb  and  inform  his  mother  of  his  flight  to  a  foreign 
country  ;  she  should  hear  further  particulars  from 
him  later.  Then  he  completed  his  preparations  for  a 
hasty  departure,  wrote  in  the  name  "Algernon 
Smith  "  on  the  passport,  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket, 
called  a  carriage,  and  set  out  on  his  flight. 

The  enemy's  first  outpost  was  successfully  passed. 
The  commanding  officer  examined  his  passport, 
found  it  correct,  and  affixed  his  signature.  Ödön 
was  free  to  go  on.  His  second  station  was  Gyapjú, 
whence  he  wished  to  continue  directly  to  Várad,  and 
thence  by  way  of  Szigeth  into  Galicia.  At  Gyapjú 
he  was  conducted  to  the  commandant's  quarters. 
Entering   with  an   unconcerned  air,   he  inquired  to 


I^^tnnii^   /tPT^'r<í<r<í--    ' 


i.-«-'*a>  I  /^  Tjc      i_/i{*^N.'i^    (*■ '    t^ 


GOOD    OLD   FRIENDS.  2^y 

whom  he  should  show  his  papers.  There  were  sev- 
eral officers  in  the  room,  one  of  whom  asked  him  to 
wait  a  few  minutes  until  the  commandant  came  in. 
Meanwhile  an  adjutant  made  the  necessary  examina- 
tion of  his  passport  and  found  it  apparently  all  right  ; 
the  one  thing  now  required  was  the  signature  of  the 
commanding  officer. 

The  entrance  of  the  latter  caused  Ödön  a  violent 
start.  The  man  before  him  was  —  Leonin  Ramiroff, 
grown  to  manly  proportions  and  wearing  the  stern, 
soldierly  look  of  one  entrusted  with  military  responsi- 
bility. The  adjutant  called  his  attention  to  the  paper 
awaiting  his  signature,  assuring  him  that  it  was  all  in 
order.  Leonin  took  up  a  pen,  wrote  his  name,  and 
then  turned  to  hand  the  passport  to  Ödön.  The 
latter  felt  his  heart  stop  beating  as  he  met  that 
sharp,  penetrating  gaze. 

^^jra!ijTejiüL^M^;:Algf¥nűn_S^  the 

Russian  officer  in  English,  drawing  himsdf_  up  tojiis 
full  height ;  "you  are  Ödön.Baradlay." 

Ödön's  heart  sank  within  him.  "And  are  you 
going  to  betray  me  .-"  "   he  asked,  likewise  in  English. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner." 

"This  from  you,  Leonin  Ramiroff,  my  bosom 
friend  of  old,  my  faithful  comrade  on  a  long  winter 
journey  when  we  were  chased  by  wolves  ;  you,  the 
man  who  plunged  into  the  icy  river  to  save  me  at 
the  risk  of  your  own  life  1 " 


288  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  I  was  merely  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  guard 
then,"  replied  Leonin  coldly. 

"  And  now  will  you  hand  me  over  to  my  bitterest 
foes,  to  the  derisive  laughter  of  the  conqueror,  to  a 
miserable  death  on  the  scaffold  ?  " 

"I  am  now  a  colonel  of  lancers,"  was  the  other's 
only  reply  ;  and  with  that  he  tore  the  passport  in 
two  and  threw  it  under  the  table.  "Take  the  pris- 
oner away  and  put  him  under  guard." 

The  adjutant  took  Ödön  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
out.  The  house  was  full  of  officers  and  their  ser- 
vants, so  that  no  place  could  be  found  for  the  pris- 
oner but  a  little  shanty  built  of  boards,  adjoining  the 
stable.  Here  he  was  confined,  and  a  Cossack  stationed 
with  his  carbine  outside  as  guard. 

Every  three  hours  the  guard  was  changed.  Being 
acquainted  with  Russian,  Ödön  understood  the  order 
given  to  his  jailer,  —  "  If  he  tries  to  escape,  shoot  him." 

At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  a  thunder-storm 
came  up.  The  rain  descended  in  torrents,  and  in  the 
flashes  of  lightning  the  captive  could  look  through 
the  cracks  in  his  prison-wall  and  see  the  Cossack 
standing  ankle-deep  in  mud  and  water,  his  carbine 
ready  for  instant  use.  The  storm  passed  over  ;  the 
tower-clock  struck  eleven ;  in  the  adjoining  stable 
Ödön  heard  the  Russian  cavalrymen  snoring,  while 
their  horses  were  stamping  under  an  improvised  shed 
near  by. 


GOOD    OLD   FRIENDS.  289 

Suddenly  he  heard  his  name  called,  cautiously  and 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Who  is  calling  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  —  the  guard." 

"  What !  do  you  know  me,  too  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  your  sledge-driver  on  the 
Mohilev  steppe,  —  the  time  we  were  nearly  eaten  up 
by  the  wolves  .''  You  stood  by  me  then,  and  I'm  going 
to  stand  by  you  now.  At  the  back  of  your  shanty  is 
a  loose  board,  —  the  fourth  from  the  bottom.  You 
can  push  it  aside  and  crawl  out.  The  horse-shed  is 
behind.  My  horse  has  his  saddle  and  bridle  on  ; 
you'll  know  him  by  his  white  tail.  He's  the  fastest 
runner  in  the  regiment.  Mount  him  and  make  for 
the  garden  in  the  rear,  and  then  follow  the  storm. 
You'll  find  the  horse  a  good  one,  and  easy  on  the 
bit.  Don't  be  afraid  of  me  if  I  shoot  after  you ;  I'm 
bound  to  do  it,  though  I'm  not  to  blame  for  all  the 
loose  boards  in  your  prison.  And  one  word  more  : 
when  you  have  mounted  my  horse,  and  want  him  to 
go,  press  his  flanks  with  your  knees,  but  don't  whip 
him.  If  you  use  the  whip  he'll  stand  stock-still,  and 
the  harder  you  whip  the  stiller  he'll  stand.  More 
than  one  horse-thief  has  come  to  grief  for  want  of 
knowing  that.  His  name  is  Ljubicza,  and  he  likes  to 
be  called  by  it.  If  you  whisper  in  his  ear,  '  Hurrah, 
Ljubicza  ! '  he'll  dart  away  like  the  wind." 

Ödön    felt  renewed    life  thrill  through  his  veins. 


290  7 HE  BARON'S  SONS. 

He  lost  no  time  in  following  his  humble  friend's 
directions.  Finding  the  loose  board,  which  seemed 
to  be  secured  only  by  a  rusty  nail,  he  softly  removed 
it,  and  squeezed  through  the  opening.  Making  his 
way  to  the  horse-shed,  he  soon  picked  out  the  white- 
tailed  horse,  swung  himself  on  to  its  back  and  turned 
it  around.  Then,  pressing  his  knees  inward,  he 
whispered,  "Hurrah,  Ljubicza!"  The  well-trained 
animal  darted  away  through  the  garden. 

At  the  sound  of  the  galloping  horse  the  guard 
sprang  forward,  drew  his  carbine  to  his  shoulder,  and, 
whispering,  "  St.  George  preserve  him  !  "  pulled  the 
trigger.  At  the  report  all  the  sleepers  leaped  to  their 
feet. 

"  What's  up  .? " 

"  Prisoner  escaped." 

"After  him!" 

A  score  of  Cossacks  threw  themselves  on  their 
horses  and  gave  chase,  discharging  their  pieces  in  the 
darkness  as  they  rode.  An  occasional  flash  of  light- 
ning revealed  the  fugitive  ahead  of  them,  and  stimu- 
lated the  pursuers  to  renewed  efforts.  But  the  fleet 
stallion  soon  overtook  the  storm,  and  it  proved  a  good 
travelling  companion,  wrapping  the  fugitive  in  its 
mantle  of  rain,  and  drowning  with  its  thunder-claps 
the  beating  of  his  horse's  hoofs.  It  took  the  side  of 
the  escaped  prisoner,  and  he  was  not  caught. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

AT    HOME. 

The  dawn  found  Ödön  alone  on  the  wide  heath,  — 
a  bare  and  desolate  plain  before  him,  where  nothing 
but  earth  and  sky  met  the  view,  except  that  in  the 
distance  the  faint  outline  of  a  well-sweep  could  be 
descried.  Ödön  turned  his  horse  in  that  direction. 
The  animal  seemed  thirsty,  and  quickened  his  pace  as 
he  drew  nearer  the  well.  After  watering  him  and 
turning  him  loose  to  seek  what  forage  the  barren 
heath  had  to  offer,  the  rider  sat  down  on  the  low 
well-curb  and  gazed  over  the  plain.  But  he  was  not 
long  left  to  his  meditations  ;  the  distant  neighing  of 
a  horse  aroused  him,  and  his  faithful  Ljubicza,  with 
an  answering  whinny,  came  trotting  to  his  side,  as  if 
offering  himself  for  farther  flight. 

Resting  one  arm  on  the  saddle,  Ödön  stood  await- 
ing the  stranger's  approach.  It  certainly  could  not 
be  an  enemy  roaming  the  plain  in  that  manner  ;  it 
must  be  a  travelling  companion,  a  fugitive  like  him- 
self, who  had  been  attracted  thither  by  the  well-sweep, 
that    lighthouse   of   the   arid   plains.      As   he   drew 

291 


292  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

nearer,  the  unknown  rider  looked  like  some  stray- 
member  of  a  guerilla  band.  A  bright  red  ribbon 
adorned  his  round  hat.  Upon  his  closer  approach 
Ödön  recognised  his  old  acquaintance,  Gregory  Boksa, 
the  ox-herd  ;  and  he  was  glad  even  of  this  humble 
man's  company  in  the  lonely  desert. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Gregory,  as  he  rode  up  on  his 
white-faced  horse  ;  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  my 
dear  sir  !  May  Heaven  preserve  you  !  It  is  well  you 
made  your  escape,  for  they're  having  bad  times  back 
yonder.     I  myself  only  got  away  with  difficulty." 

So  saying,  the  driver  of  cattle  dismounted  and 
patted  his  horse  on  the  neck. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  resumed,  "if  old  White-face  hadn't 
held  out  as  well  as  he  did,  it  would  have  been  all 
over  with  me.  You  see,  when  I  learned  that  our 
people  had  laid  down  their  arms,  I  said  to  myself : 
*  The  Russians  sha'n't  have  my  hundred  head  of 
cattle  for  nothing.'  So  I  drove  the  herd  to  Várad 
through  the  Belényes  forest,  and  walked  into  the 
Russian  camp.  'I've  got  some  cattle  to  sell,'  said  I, 
'and  if  you  want  to  buy,  now's  your  chance.'  The 
stupid  Russians  snapped  at  the  bait,  agreed  to  my 
price  after  a  little  haggling,  and  gave  me  a  money- 
order  for  the  lot.  I  was  to  go  to  Rideghváry,  said 
they,  and  he  would  pay  me  the  cash." 

"  Is  Rideghváry  in  Várad  }  "  asked  Ödön  quickly. 

"Yes,   indeed,   he's  there;  but   I   took  good   care 


AT  HOME.  293 

not  to  go  near  him.  I  was  glad  enough  to  be  off 
before  dog  or  cat  could  see  me.  The  devil  take  the 
money !  Rideghváry  would  have  paid  me  in  coin 
that  I  had  no  use  for." 

Ödön  felt  lighter  of  heart.  If  Rideghváry  was  in 
Várad,  he  himself  owed  his  life  a  second  time  to 
Leonin  Ramiroff  ;  for  had  not  the  latter  arrested  him, 
he  would  have  run  into  the  arms  of  the  former. 
What  if  Leonin  had  foreseen  this  and  stopped  him 
on  purpose  .-*  Perhaps,  too,  his  escape  was  really  all 
of  his  friend's  planning,  and  he  had  thus  shown 
himself  a  true  friend  after  all.  Whether  it  was  so 
or  not,  Ödön  clung  to  the  belief  that  Leonin  had 
behaved  with  noble  generosity  toward  his  old  friend. 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  said  he,  "for  telling 
me  where  Rideghváry  is  at  present.  In  all  the  world 
there  is  no  one  I  am  so  anxious  to  avoid." 

"But  what  are  your  plans }  "  asked  Boksa. 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  very  first  Austrian  officer  I  can 
find  and  tell  him  who  I  am.  He  shall  do  what  he 
chooses  with  me.      I  am  going  to  face  the  music." 

This  proposal  by  no  means  met  with  the  other's 
approval.  "That  is  not  wise  on  your  part,"  he 
remonstrated.  "  No,  indeed  !  I  am  a  simple  man, 
but  I  can't  approve  of  your  course.  When  the  con- 
queror is  in  his  first  frenzy,  I  say,  keep  out  of  his 
way,  for  he  is  sure  to  show  no  mercy  to  his  first 
victims.     Why,  then,  such  haste  ?  " 


é^^^^jp  OM- 


294  THE   BAROA^'S  SONS. 


^.^^^^^' 


"  You  don't  suppose  I  care  to  lie  hidden  in  the 
woods  month  after  month,  or  wander  about  hke  a 
tramp  and  be  hunted  from  one  county  to  another  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  returned  Gregory,  "  I  don't  say  you 
should  do  that,  though  for  myself  I  don't  expect 
anything  better.  But  you  are  a  nobleman  with  an 
estate  of  your  own  ;  go  home  and  take  your  ease,  as 
becomes  a  man  of  your  station,  until  they  choose  to 
send  for  you." 

"  And  so  make  my  hard  fate  all  the  harder  to  bear, 
after  seeing  again  those  that  are  dearest  to  me  in  the 
world  .'*     No  ;  both  for  their  sakes  and  for  my  own  I 
must  refuse  to  follow  any  such  advice." 
"  When  did  you  last  see  your  family  .''  " 
"  It  is  now  four  months  since  I  left  Nemesdomb." 
"And  when  did  you  last  visit  Körös  Island  1  " 
"  I  have  never  been  there  at  all.    My  father  bought 
that  summer  residence  while  I  was  abroad,  and  since 
my  return  I  have  had  no  leisure  for  summer  vaca- 
tions." 

"Very  well,  sir.  I  think  now  I  understand  you 
perfectly.  With  my  poor  wits  I  can  easily  see  that 
a  person  of  your  importance  would  prefer  not  to 
surrender  himself  a  prisoner  to  the  first  corporal  or 
sergeant  that  comes  along.  You  wouldn't  enjoy 
being  driven  through  the  nearest  market-town  with 
your  hands  tied  behind  you,  —  the  sport  of  your 
enemies.     Now  supposing  you  let  me  lead  you,  by 


AT  HOME.  295 

lonely  paths  where  we  sha'n't  meet  a  soul,  to  the 
house  of  an  acquaintance,  —  an  out-of-the-way  place, 
—  where  you  can  write  a  letter  to  the  Austrian 
commander-in-chief,  and  quietly  wait  for  things  to 
take  their  course.  A  thousand  things  may  happen 
in  the  meantime.  Why  should  you  rush  to  your 
destruction  1  Wait  and  let  your  fate  come  to  you,  I 
say,  and  meantime  keep  your  pipe  lighted.  If  I  were 
a  great  lord,  that's  what  I  should  do." 

"  I  accept  your  offer,  my  good  Boksa,"  returned 
Ödön.  "  Your  head  seems  better  than  mine.  Con- 
duct me  whither  you  will." 

"All  right !  "  responded  the  other.  "  Let  us  mount 
and  be  off." 

Throughout  the  night  the  full  moon  lighted  the 
two  travellers  on  their  way.  Many  stretches,  too, 
of  dry,  hard  ground  were  encountered,  where  more 
rapid  progress  was  possible  than  among  the  bulrushes 
and  tall  reeds.  The  horses,  moreover,  found  occa- 
sional forage,  stout  grass  and  blackberry  bushes  being 
abundant.  Toward  morning  they  came  to  a  river, 
and  here  Boksa  and  his  charge  rested  in  the  hut  of 
a  fisherman  who  was  known  to  the  ox -herd,  and  who 
served  his  guests  a  hotly  spiced  fish-chowder.  After 
partaking  of  it  Ödön  stretched  himself  on  the  rush 
mat,  and,  wearied  as  he  was  with  his  long  wanderings, 
slept  as  soundly  as  a  tired  child.  When  he  awoke. 
Boksa  was  sitting  on  the  door-sill  near  him, 


296  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Near  sunset,"  was  the  answer. 

"  So  late  as  that  ?     Why  didn't  you  wake  me  ?  " 

"Ah,  that  would  have  been  a  sin.  You  were  at 
home,  talking  with  your  little  boy." 

The  road  lay  thenceforth  along  the  riverside.  It 
was  late  in  the  evening  when  they  came  to  an  island 
of  some  size  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  and 
communicating  by  a  bridge  with  the  bank  on  which 
Ödön  and  his  guide  were  standing. 

"  Here  we  are,"  announced  Boksa.  "  This  is  where 
my  acquaintance  lives,  —  the  one  I  was  going  to  bring 
you  to." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  "  asked  Ödön. 

"  You'll  know  him  when  you  see  him,"  replied  the 
other  evasively. 

"  But  shall  I  not  be  a  burden  to  him .'' " 

"No,  indeed." 

They  rode  over  the  bridge,  and  an  ivy-covered 
villa  came  to  view  through  the  foliage.  Proceeding 
up  the  gravel  path  to  the  veranda,  they  alighted  and 
gave  their  horses  to  the  stable-boy.  Through  the 
long  windows  that  opened  on  the  veranda  could  be 
seen  a  lamp  and  people  gathered  about  it.  A  young 
woman  sat  with  a  sleeping  child  in  her  lap  ;  an  older 
lady,  with  a  face  of  marble  pallor,  sat  before  an  open 
Bible ;  and  a  young  man  held  a  little  boy  on  his 
knee  and  drew  pictures  for  him  on  a  slate.     A  big      -' 


AT  HOME.  297 

Newfoundland  dog  suddenly  rose  from  the   corner 

where  he  was  sleeping,  and,  with  a  half-suppressed 

bark  of  eager  expectation,  came  bounding  to  the 
door. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  stammered  Ödön  in  great  agitation. 

"AtJiome." 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    LETTER, 


Ödön  could  not  persuade  himself  that  Boksa  had 
done  him  a  kindness  in  bringing  him  home.  It  was 
a  time  of  torturing  suspense  for  all  the  family.  The 
Austrian  general  had  been  duly  informed  where 
Ödön  Baradlay  could  be  found,  and  a  summons  from 
him  was  daily  expected.  Poor  Aranka  could  not 
hear  a  door  open,  or  the  sound  of  a  strange  step, 
without  starting  and  turning  pale.  Every  day,  when 
the  mail  came,  they  all  ran  to  look  over  the  letters 
and  make  sure  that  the  dreaded  call  to  Ödön  was  not 
among  them. 

One  day  a  suspicious-looking  letter  came  to 
view  addressed  in  German  to  "  Herr  Eugen  von 
Baradlay." 

EiLgen  —  why,  that  was  German  for  Jem.  He 
opened  the  letter,  read  it,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
All  the  family  were  present,  and  his  mother  asked 
him  from  whom  his  letter  came,  and  what  news  it 
brought.  But  Jenő  only  answered,  "  I  must  go  on 
a  journey." 

2Q8 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER.  299 

"Whither  and  for  what  purpose?"  asked  the 
baroness. 

"I  can't  sit  idle  here  any  longer,"  he  replied. 
"  One  of  my  brothers  has  vanished  from  our  sight, 
and  the  other  daily  expects  to  be  taken  prisoner. 
Such  a  life  is  more  than  I  can  bear  any  longer.  It 
is  my  turn  now  to  try  what  I  can  do." 

"  But  what  can  you  do  .''  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  That  is  my  secret." 

"  But  I  have  a  right  to  share  it.  No  member  of 
my  family  shall  adopt  a  course  which  affects  us  all, 
which  I  have  not  first  approved." 

"  You  will  learn  all  in  due  time." 

"  But  what  if  I  then  refuse  to  give  my  sanc- 
tion .? " 

"Your  refusal  will  be  too  late  to  be  of  any 
avail." 

"  Then  I  forbid  you  to  go  on." 

"  I  cannot  obey  you.  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  but 
am  responsible  to  myself  alone  for  my  actions." 

"But,"  interposed  Ödön,  "you  are  still  a  son  and 
a  brother," 

"  As  you  shall  soon  see,"  answered  Jenő,  with  sig- 
nificant emphasis. 

The  baroness  took  her  youngest  son  by  the  hand. 
"You  have  some  plan  for  saving  our  family,"    said 
she.     "  I  can  read  your  soul  ;  you  are  an  open  book  j. 
to  me.      I  have  studied  you  from  your  infancy.     You 


-KQ^ 


D 


300  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

think  now  to  rescue  us  by  leaving  us  and  resuming 
your  old  connections,  thus  exerting  an  influence  in 
our  favour  upon  our  enemies.  I  see  that  you  are 
planning  to  return  to  the  Plankenhorsts." 

Jenő  smiled  sadly.  "  Do  you  read  that  in  my 
heart .-'  "  he  asked. 

"  You  wish  to  marry  that  girl  in  order  to  save 
your  brother  through  the  powerful  influence  of 
her  family,  —  that  girl  whose  dower  will  be  my 
hatred,  and  on  whom  her  country's  curse  and  God's 
anger__rest." 

Aranka  threw  herself  on  her  mother-in-law's  breast. 
"  Mother,"  she  cried,  "do  not  speak  of  her  like  that ; 
he  loves  her  !  " 

Ödön  led  his  wife  back  to  her  seat.  "  Do  not  inter- 
pose, my  dear,"  said  he,  firmly.  "We  are  here  con- 
cerned with  matters  of  which  your  innocent  soul  can 
have  not  the  slightest  conception.  To  purchase  life 
and  property  by  swearing  fidelity  to  the  woman  who 
was  the  inspiring  demon  of  all  the  woe  that  so  lately 
befell  our  poor  country  ;  who  has  nursed  the  hatred 
of  one  people  against  another ;  who  has  played  the 
part  of  traitress,  spy,  slanderer ;  who  has  stirred  up 
men  against  the  throne  only  for  the  purpose  of  deliv- 
ering them  over  to  the  hangman  ;  who  harbours  such 
fiendish  plots  in  her  bosom  that,  if  she  had  her  way, 
^she  would  embitter  for  ever  one  country  against  its 
neighbour,  —  to  bring  such  a  woman  as  wife  into  his 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  LETTER.  3OI 

father's  house  is  what  no  Baradlay  shall  do,  or  if  he 
should  do  it  I  know  otie  who  would  refuse  the  gift  of 
his  life  at  such  a  price." 

The  baroness  sank  weeping  on  her  eldest  son's 
bosom.  He  had  voiced  the  cry  of  her  own  proud 
soul.  Jenő  said  nothing ;  he  smiled  sadly,  and  went 
about  his  preparations  for  departure.  Aranka  regarded 
him  with  compassion  in  her  eyes. 

"And  do  you,  too,  condemn  me  }  "  he  asked  softly. 

"Do  what  your  heart  bids  you,"  she  sighed. 

"Yes,  with  Heaven's  help  I  will !  " 

His  mother  would  not  let  him  leave  the  room  ;  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him  and  blocked 
the  way.  "  My  son,"  he  scried,  "  I  beg  you  not  to 
go.  Let  misery,  torture,  death  itself  overtake  us ; 
we  will  bear  them  all  without  complaint.  Have  not 
ten  thousand  already  died  for  the  cause .''  But  our 
souls  we  will  keep  unsullied.  Oh,  do  not  close  against 
us  the  way  to  heaven  !  " 

"Mother,  I  implore  you,  rise." 

"  No  ;  if  you  go,  my  place  is  here  in  the  dust,  — 
crushed  to  the  earth." 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  mother  ;  nor  is  it  my 
\(^ill  that  you  should." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  mother,  joyfully  ;  "you  are  not 
planning  to  do  as  I  suspected  .'* " 

"That  question  I  must  refuse  to  answer." 

"One  word  more,"    interrupted   Ödön;    "if   you 


302  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

would  relieve  our  anxiety,  show  us  the  letter  you 
have  received."  * 

Jenő  put  his  hand  to  his  breast,  as  if  fearful  lest 
some  one  might  try  to  take  the  letter  from  him  by 
force.  "  That  letter  you  shall  not  see,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"  I  am  determined  to  read  it,"  returned  the  other. 

At  this  Jenö's  face  flushed  hotly.  "  Ödön  Barad- 
lay,"  he  exclaimed,  "  the  letter  is  addressed  to  Eugen 
Baradlay.  I  am  Eugen  Baradlay."  So  saying,  he 
turned  proudly  away. 

"  Then  our  mother  was  right,  after  all,"  said  his 
brother  bitterly. 

The  baroness  rose  to  her  feet.  Tears  coursed 
down  her  cheeks.'  "Go,  then,"  she  cried,  "whither 
your  obstinate  will  leads  you.  Leave  us  here  in 
despair  and  in  tears.  But  know  that,  though  two  of 
my  sons  are  likely  to  die  on  the  scaffold,  I  shall  not 
mourn  those  that  are  taken,  but  the  one  that  is  left." 

At  these  hard  words  Jenő  looked  with  a  gentle 
smile  at  the  speaker.  "Mother,"  said  he,  "remem- 
ber that  my  last  words  to  you  were,  'I  love  you.' 
Farewell !  "     And  he  was  gone. 

The  contents  of  his  letter  were  as  follows  :  '*' 

"  Herr  Commissary -General  Eugen  von  Ba- 
radlay :  —  You  are  hereby  summoned  before  the 
military  tribunal  in  Pest." 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  LETTER.  303 

The  judge-advocate's  signature  followed. 

By  a  slight  mistake  in  translation,  "  Ödön "  had 
been  rendered  in  German  by  "  Eugen "  instead  of 
"Edmund."  Such  mistakes  were^)^t_jn2£QjiuiLűn jn 
those  Hays. 


tnose  days.  ^  /7-^ 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THE    SUMMONS    ANSWERED. 

In  two  weeks  Jenö's  case  came  up  for  trial.  Mean- 
while the  prosecution  had  been  busy  collecting  evi- 
dence of  the  rebel  commissary-general's  guilt. 

"Are  you  Eugen  Baradlay.''"  asked  the  judge- 
advocate. 

"I  am." 

"  Are  you  married  .-•  " 

"  I  have  a  wife  and  two  children." 

"  Were  you  commissary-general  of  the  rebel 
forces  ? " 

"  I  was." 

"  Are  you  the  same  Eugen  Baradlay  that  drove  the 
administrator  from  his  chair  as  presiding  ofificer  in 
your  county  assembly  .-•  " 

"The  same." 

"  Did  you  appear  during  the  March  uprising  at  the 
head  of  the  Hungarian  deputation  that  was  sent  to 
Vienna,  and  did  you  there  address  the  people  in  lan- 
guage calculated  to  stir  them  to  rebellion  ?  " 

*'  I  cannot  deny  it." 

304 


THE  SUMMONS  ANSWERED.  305 

"  Do  you  recognise  these  words  as  having  been 
spoken  by  you  at  that  time  ?  " 

The  judge-advocate  handed  him  a  sheet  of  paper 
covered  with  pencilled  writing  in  a  woman's  hand. 
Jenő  had  good  cause  to  remember  the  contents  of 
the  sheet,  and  to  recognise  the  writing.  Had  he  not 
seen  Alfonsine  taking  down  the  orator's  words  on  that 
well-remembered  night  when  they  both  paused  to  lis- 
ten to  his  brother's  eloquence .''  She  had  rested  her 
portfolio  against  his  shoulder  while  she  wrote  down 
the  most  striking  portions  of  th^e  address  —  for  her 
scrap-book. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  returning  the  paper,  "those  were 
my  words." 

The  judges  consulted  together.  The  prompt  and 
positive  acknowledgment  of  the  last  charge  was  more 
than  they  had  expected  ;  the  accused  need  not  have 
committed  himself.     The  examination  was  resumed. 

"  A  brother  of  yours,  a  hussar  ofificer,  deserted 
with  his  men.  Did  you  use  your  influence  to  per- 
suade him  to  that  course .''  " 

So  it  was  not  known  who  had  actually  persuaded 
Richard  to  lead  his  men  into  Hungary  ;  or  were 
they  intentionally  heaping  all  the  blame  on  his  head 
to  make  his  condemnation  the  surer  .-•  He  hastened 
to  reply : 

"Yes,  it  was  I  who  did  it."  He  answered  so 
eagerly  as  to  excite  some  surprise. 


306  THE    BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Have  you  not  another  brother,  —  Edmund  or 
Jenő  ? " 

"Yes;  'Jenő'  in  Hungarian,  'Edmund'  in  Ger- 
man." 

"  Aren't  you  wrong  ?  Is  not  *  Eugen  '  the  German 
for  'Jenő,'  and  '  Edmund  '  the  German  for  '  Ödön  '  ? 
I  have  heard  the  matter  discussed  before  now," 

"  No,  it  is  as  I  say." 

"This  brother  disappeared  from  Vienna  simul- 
taneously with  the  hussar  officer.  Do  you  know 
the  reason  .? " 

"I  believe  it  was  because  he  found  himself  thrown 
out  of  his  place  in  the  chancellor's  office,  and  was 
unwilling  to  pass  his  time  in  idleness," 

"  What  became  of  him  }  " 

"  Ever  since  then  he  has  been  at  home,  looking 
after  the  estate  in  his  brothers'  absence.  He 
took  no  part  whatever  in  the  uprising,  but  occu- 
pied his  leisure  hours  with  painting  and  music, 
and  in  teaching  my  little  boy.  He  is  still  at 
home." 

"  Did  you  not  raise  and  maintain  at  your  own  cost 
a  battalion  of  volunteers  }  " 

"Yes;  two  hundred  cavalry  and  three  hundred 
infantry.  At  the  battle  of  Kápolna  I  led  the  cavalry 
in  person." 

"  You  are  anticipating  the  prosecution.  Were  you 
present  at  the  Debreczen  diet .-'  " 


THE   SUMMONS  ANSWERED.  307 

"  As  one  cannot  be  in  two  places  at  the  same 
time,  I  was  not." 

"  At  the  battle  of  Forro  did  you  not  exert  yourself 
in  rallying  the  routed  forces  of  the  rebels  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  did." 

Jenő  had  committed  himself  unnecessarily.  He 
seemed  not  merely  unconcerned  as  to  his  fate,  but 
even  eager  to  meet  it.  The  judge-advocate  sought 
to  test  him.  Searching  among  his  papers,  he  finally 
looked  up  and  said  : 

"  The  charge  is  here  made  against  you  that  in  the 
expedition  among  the  mountains  you  seized  and 
appropriated  to  your  own  use  all  the  bullion  stored 
in  the  public  mints." 

At  this  charge  Jenö's  face  flushed  with  anger. 
"That  is  false!"  he  cried.  "That  is  a  shameless 
slander  !     No  Baradlay  would  commit  a  crime  !  " 

This  outburst  sealed  his  fate  by  removing  any 
lingering  doubt  as  to  his  identity.  Such  a  passionate 
denial  could  have  come  only  from  him  whom  the 
charge  actually  concerned,  that  is,  from  Ödön  Ba- 
radlay. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  in  your  defence  ? "  he  was 
asked  in  closing. 

"  Our  defence  is  in  our  deeds,"  was  the  proud  re- 
joinder.    "Posterity  will  judge  us." 

The  jury  was  then  sworn  in  the  presence  of  the 
accused,  and  the  latter  was  led  into  a  side  room  to 


308  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

wait  until  summoned  to  hear  the  verdict  and  receive 
his  sentence.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  was  led 
back  again.  Omitting  the  charge  which  he  had 
denied,  he  was  found  guilty  on  all  the  other  counts, 
and  they  were  amply  sufficient  to  condemn  him  to 
death.  He  bowed  as  if  well  satisfied  with  his  sen- 
tence. An  early  hour  the  next  morning  was  assigned 
for  his  execution.  He  heaved  a  sigh.  His  purpose 
was  accomplished.  He  had  but  one  favour  to  ask,  — 
the  privilege  of  writing  to  his  wife,  his  mother,  and 
his  brother,  before  he  died.  His  request  was 
granted,  and  he  thanked  the  court  with  a  smile  so 
serene  and  an  eye  so  clear  that  more  than  one  heart 
was  touched  with  compassion. 

His  judges  were  not  to  blame  that  the  Eumenides 
thirsted  for  blood. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

A    POSTHUMOUS    MESSAGE. 

In  the  rainy  autumn  days  the  Baradlay  family 
removed  from  Körös  Island  to  Nemesdomb.  The 
latter  was  no  longer  a  hospital :  the  patients  had 
been  elsewhere  provided  for,  and  all  traces  of  war 
and  bloodshed  had  disappeared. 

One  evening,  when  the  little  family  was  gathered 
about  the  lamp,  the  door  opened  and  a  guest  entered 
unannounced.  It  was  a  guest  not  wont  to  stand  on 
ceremony,  a  guest  whose  right  it  was  to  enter  any 
house  at  any  time,  whether  its  inmates  were  at  table, 
at  prayers,  or  whatever  they  might  be  doing.  His  uni- 
form —  that  of  the  imperial  pohce  —  was  his  passport. 
He  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap  in  military  salute. 

"  Pardon  me  for  disturbing  you  at  so  late  an  hour," 
said  he  in  German  ;  "  but  I  bring  a  despatch  from 
Pest  directed  to  Baron  Edmund  von  Baradlay." 

So  the  fatal  summons  had  come  at  last ! 

Ödön  took  a  lamp  from  the  table.  "  That  is  my 
name,"  said  he,  calmly.  "  Will  you  please  come  with 
me  to  my  room  ?  " 

309 


3lO  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Excuse  me  ;  I  have  also  letters  for  the  two  ladies, 
—  the  dowager  Baroness  Casimir  von  Baradlay  and 
the  young  Baroness  von  Baradlay." 

The  messenger  took  from  his  pocketbook  the  three 
letters,  and  delivered  them  according  to  the  addresses 
they  bore.  "  I  will  await  your  pleasure  in  the  ante- 
room," said  he,  as  he  saluted  and  withdrew. 

All  three  looked  at  their  letters  with  pale  faces, 
as  one  scrutinises  a  missive  he  fears  to  open  and 
read.  Each  of  the  letters  bore  the  government  seal, 
and  was  addressed  in  the  clear,  caligraphic  hand  of 
an  office  clerk. 

Each .  contained,  in  the  same  caligraphic  handwrit- 
ing, the  following : 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  forward  to  you  the  enclosed 
communication,  which  has  been  officially  examined 
by  me,  and  found  to  contain  no  objectionable  matter." 

Then  followed  an  illegible  scrawl  as  signature. 
The  "enclosed  communication"  proved  in  each  case 
to  be  a  letter  from  Jenő.     Ödön's  ran  as  follows : 

"  Dear  Edmund  :  —  To-day  I  bring  to  its  fulfil- 
ment that  for  which  I  have  lived.  I  die  for  the 
cause  I  have  embraced.  Be  not  bowed  down  with 
sadness  at  my  fate ;  I  go  to  meet  it  with  head  erect. 
I  leave  you  my  blessing,  and  take  my  faith  with  me. 
The  blood  we  shed  will  moisten  no  thankless  soil : 
from  it   will  spring  golden  harvests  for  our  father- 


A    POSTHUMOUS  MESSAGE.  3II 

land  and  for  humanity.  You  who  survive  will  rear 
again  the  structure  that  now  falls  in  ruins  over  our 
heads.  Sooner  or  later  the  helm  of  the  ship  of  state 
will  come  into  your  hands.  I  die  with  entire  sub- 
mission to  the  decrees  of  destiny.  Dry  Aranka' s 
tears  ;  kiss  for  me  little  Béla  and  the  baby,  and  when 
they  ask  whither  I  have  gone,  say  I  am  in  your  heart. 
For  yourself,  never  lose  courage ;  live  for  our  family 
and  our  country,  which  may  God  prosper  for  ages  to 
come  !  Your  brother, 

''EUGEN."      . 

The  parting  message  to  Aranka  was  thus  conceived  : 

"  My  dear,  my  beloved  Aranka  :  —  Your  noble 
words  still  ring  in  my  ears,  —  '  Do  what  your  heart 
bids  you.'  I  have  done  it.  Forgive  me  for  causing 
you  pain  by  my  death.  I  would  have  you,  while  you 
weep  for  me,  still  be  comforted.  Do  not  sadden 
your  little  ones  by  showing  them  a  sorrowful  face. 
You  know  how  quickly  sadness  in  you  affects  them, 
and  hovv  you  are  thus  in  danger  of  blighting  the 
joy  of  their  innocent  young  lives.  Be  good  to  my 
mother  and  brothers  ;  they  will  care  for  you.  Veil 
the  little  portrait  for  awhile,  that  it  may  not  too 
often  bring  to  mind  sad  thoughts  of  the  past.  I  will 
spare  you  the  pain  of  reading  more.  I  would  leave 
you  in  such  a  way  that  you  may  not  be  bowed  down 


312  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

with  grief  at  my  going.      I  send  you  a  kiss  through 
the  air ;  it  will  reach  you  from  the  heavens  above. 
May  God  keep  you  for  ever.     Even  in  death, 
"  Your  ever  loving 

"EUGEN." 

To  his  mother  the  young  man  sent  the  following 
message : 

"  My  dear,  my  adored  Mother  :  —  The  words 
with  which  I  parted  from  you  I  now  repeat  once 
more,  —  I  love  you.  You  no  longer  fear  that 
Aranka's  little  ones  will  come  to  want,  do  you  .■* 
Heaven  has  ordered  all  things  well,  —  both  for  him 
who  dies,  and  for  those  that  are  left  behind.  You 
have  a  strong  nature,  an  exalted  soul,  and  I  need  not 
leave  you  any  strength  of  mine.  The  mother  of  the 
Gracchi  received  into  her  arms  her  murdered  sons, 
and  wept  not.  For  those  that  die  a  glorious  death 
their  mothers  need  shed  no  tears,  —  so  you  have 
told  us.  Therefore,  do  not  mourn.  With  true  Chris- 
tian submission  say,  '  Father,  thy  will  be  done ! ' 
And  bear  no  one  any  malice  because  of  my  death  ; 
forgive  even  her  who  by  her  accusation  has  driven 
me  to  an  early  grave,  and  do  not  let  her  know  how 
much  good  she  has  really  done  by  her  criminal  act. 
She  has  made  death  easy  for  me,  and  I  thank  her.  I 
die  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  and  I  trust  that  no 
one  harbours  any  ill  will  against  me.     An  hour  more, 


A   POSTHUMOUS  MESSAGE.  313 

and  I  shall  have  joined  my  father  up  yonder.  Of  us 
three  boys,  you  both  showed  me  the  greatest  affec- 
tion. When  I  was  small  and  you  used  to  fall  out 
with  each  other,  I  was  often  the  means  of  effecting 
a  reconciliation.  Now  once  more  that  shall  be  my 
mission.  They  are  calling  me.  May  God  preserve 
you,  dear  mother.  Your  loving  son, 

"EUGEN." 

Only  a  subdued  sobbing  was  heard  as  they  read 
their  letters  and  exchanged  them.  In  the  next  room 
was  a  stranger  who  must  not  hear  any  loud  lamenta- 
tion. But  why  did  he  linger .''  Who  was  to  go  and 
ask  him  } 

The  widow  was  the  first  to  recover  her  composure. 
She  dried  her  tears  and  rose.  "  Check  your  grief 
for  a  moment,"  said  she  to  the  other  two,  and  then 
she  went  to  the  door  and  bade  the  messenger  enter. 
"  Have  you  any  further  communication  for  us }  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  drawing  a  small  package  from  ' 
his  breast  pocket,  and  delivering  it  to  the  baroness. 

She  opened  it.  It  contained  a  blue  silk  waistcoat 
which  Aranka  had  embroidered  with  lilies  of  the 
valley  and  pansies.  In  the  midst  of  the  embroidered 
flowers  were  three  holes,  each  as  large  as  a  rifle  ball, 
singed  and  blood-stained  at  the  edges.  The  em- 
broidery and  the  bullet-holes  explained  all. 


314  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

The  government  emissary  uttered  no  word,  but 
for  a  moment,  while  the  packet  was  being  opened, 
he  removed  his  cap.  The  baroness  forced  herself  to 
bear  up  yet  a  little  longer.  With  a  firm  step  she 
went  to  a  cupboard  ;  returning,  she  handed  the  man 
a  gold  coin.  He  murmured  a  "  thank  you "  and 
something  about  God's  blessing;  then  he  saluted 
and  withdrew. 

The  necessity  of  restraint  being  removed,  the 
grief-stricken  family  were  at  liberty  to  moisten  the 
dear  memento  with  their  tears  and  pay  their  loving 
tribute  to  the  noble  martyr's  memory. 


^^  ''-    a^^veJL 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


THE    PRISON    TELEGRAPH. 


But  had  Jenő  held  no  communication  with  his 
brother  Richard  before  his  death }  Yes ;  Richard 
was  a  prisoner  in  the  same  building,  and  it  was  fitted 
with  a  telegraph  which  communicated  with  all  the 
cells  and  was  never  idle.  It  could  not  be  silenced  ; 
the  prisoners  could  not  be  prevented  from  making 
use  of  it  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  It  con- 
sisted simply  of  the  prison  walls. 

No  wall  is  so  thick  that  a  knocking  on  one  side 
cannot  be  heard  on  the  other.  One  rap  stood  for 
A,  two  for  B,  three  for  C,  and  so  on  through  the 
alphabet.  The  rapping  went  on  continually  all  over 
the  building,  and  each  new  prisoner  learned  its  mean- 
ing on  the  very  day  of  his  arrival,  and  became  a  tele- 
graph operator  himself.  A  message  sent  out  from  one 
cell  was  passed  along  until  it  reached  its  destination, 
when  an  answer  was  returned  by  the  same  route. 

On  the  day  which  was  destined  to  be  Jenö's  last 
on  earth,  the  following  questions  and  ans\^^rs  passed 
from  cell  to  cell. 

315 


3l6  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

"What  news?" 

"Death  sentence." 

"Who?" 

"Baradlay." 

"  Which  one  ?  " 

"The  oldest." 

Through  Richard's  cell,  too,  passed  this  crypto- 
gram, and  he  asked  again  : 

"  First  name  ?  " 

But  the  only  reply  he  could  elicit  was  a  repetition 
of  the  above  :    "  The  oldest." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A    HEADACHE    AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

The  governor  plenipotentiary  was  suffering  with  a 
splitting  headache,  which  at  times  made  him  inclined 
to  believe  that  all  the  bullets  he  had  sent  through  his 
victims'  heads  were  holding  a  rendezvous  in  his  own. 
On  such  occasions  it  was  dangerous  to  approach  the 
great  man.  In  the  frenzy  of  his  pain  he  was  wont 
to  rage  even  against  those  he  loved  best,  and  to  find 
fault  with  all  who  were  under  his  authority,  as  if 
determined  to  make  others  feel  some  small  frac- 
tion of  the  discomfort  he  was  forced  to  endure. 
To  ask  a  favour  of  him  in  such  moments,  or  even 
to  demand  simple  justice,  was  worse  than  useless. 
Did  he  find  favour  with  his  torturer,  he  wanted 
to  know,  or  was  there  any  justice  in  his  undeserved 
suffering .'' 

This  was  the  sort  of  man  that  was  set  as  judge 
over  a  vanquished  people. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  these  attacks  the  governor 
sat  alone  one  evening  in  his  room  when  his  servant 

3*7 


318  THE   BARON'S  SONS.        Ö 

opened  the  door.     "  Some  one  here  to  speak  with 
your  Excellency,"  he  announced. 

"  Send  him  away." 
.   "  But  it  is  a  lady." 

"  The  devil  take  all  these  hysterical  women  !  I 
don't  want  any  woebegone  faces  around  me  now. 
I   can't  see  the  lady." 

Many  women,  most  of  them  in  mourning,  crossed 
his  threshold  in  those  days. 

"  It  is  the  Baroness  Alfonsine  Plankenhorst  who 


asks  to  see  you,"  the  servant  ventuFed  to'adZ! 

"  Can't  she  stay  at  home,  I'd  like  to  know }  Is  this 
time  of  night  my  hour  for  receiving  callers  .''" 

"She  says  she  must  see  your  Excellency  —  it  is 
important." 

"  A  young  person  of  strong  character.  Well,  show 
her  in.  Besides,"  he  added  to  himself,  "she  isn't  a 
woman  ;  she  is  a  devil."  Then  resuming  his  chair, 
and  without  removing  the  bandage  that  adorned  his 
head,  he  awaited  his  caller. 

Alfonsine  entered  in  travelling  costume,  and  dosed 
the  door  carefully  behind  her. 

"My  dear  Baroness,"  began  the  governor,  "I  must" 
beg  you  to  be  as  brief  as  possible,  for  I  have  a  fearful 
headache." 

"  I  will  do  my  errand  in  a  very  few  words,"  was 
the  reply.  "  I  learned  to-day  of  your  removal  from 
the  governorship  of  Hungary." 


"^    A   HEADACHE  AND  ITS   CONSEQUENCES.      3 19 

"  Ha  !  Is  that  so  ?  And  why  am  I  removed  ?  " 
The  sufferer  felt  as  if  a  cannon-ball  had  crashed 
through  his  head. 

"  Because  there  is  an  outcry  against  the  present 
severe  measures,  and  the  public  is  to  be  told  that  the 
government  is  not  reponsible  for  them,  but  you  per- 
sonally in  your  excess  of  zeal." 

The  sick  man  pressed  both  hands  to  his  temples, 
as  if  to  keep  his  head  from  bursting. 

"  Beginning  to-morrow,  a  new  system  is  to  be 
inaugurated,"  resumed  Alfonsine,  "  and  imprisonment 
is  to  take  the  place  of  the  death  penalty." 

"  Ah,  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  this  informa- 
tion—  very  grateful." 

"  I  made  all  haste  to  bring  you  warning,  for  to- 
morrow morning  you  will  receive  official  notification 
of  your  retirement.  But  you  still  have  a  night  before 
you  for  action," 

"  And  I  will  use  it,  I  assure  you  ! "  exclaimed  the 
governor. 

He  rang  his  bell  and  summoned  his  adjutant. 
The  latter  soon  appeared. 

"Go  at  once  to  the  judge-advocate  and  tell  him 
to  have  all  pending  suits  drawn  up  and  ready  to 
submit  to  the  court  at  midnight,  when  it  will  hold 
an  extra  session.  At  three  o'clock  all  the  verdicts 
must  be  in  my  hands  ;  at  five  let  the  accused  stand 
ready  to  hear  their  sentences.     The  garrison  mean- 


320  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

while  is  to  be  kept  under  arms.  Now  go  ;  despatch 
is  the  word  !  " 

The  governor  turned  again  to  his  visitor.  "  Are 
you  satisfied  with  my  promptness  } "  he  asked. 

Alfonsine  answered  with  another  question.  "  Is 
Richard  Baradlay  one  of  those  whose  cases  will  come 
up  to-night  .'* " 

"  His  name  is  among  the  first  on  the  list,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  Do  not  forget,  your  Excellency,"  urged  the 
other,  "that  he  has  done  us  more  harm  than  any 
one  else." 

"  I  know  all  about  him,  Baroness,  and  his  case 
shall  receive  our  immediate  attention.  And  now  I 
thank  you  for  bringing  me  this  word  so  promptly ; 
I  thank  you  heartily." 

"  Good  night." 

"  Ha !  ha !  and  a  royal  good  night  it  will  be  for 
me !  "  exclaimed  the  governor  when  his  guest  had 
gone. 

All  that  night  Alfonsine  Plankenhorst  never 
closed  her  eyes.  Fiendish  joy  and  nervous  excite- 
ment frightened  sleep  from  her  pillow.  She  was 
impatient  for  morning  to  come,  that  she  might  take 
the  first  train  for  Vienna  and  revel  in  her  poor 
cousin's  grief  and  despair.  She  counted  the  hours 
as  they  dragged  slowly  by.  Twelve  o'clock.  The 
court  was  now  in  session  ;  the  accused  were  hearing 


A    HEADACHE   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.       32 1 

the  charges  read  out  against  them  ;  they  were  being 
asked  if  they  had  any  defence  to  offer  ;  they  had 
none.  Then  they  were  led  back  to  their  cells.  One 
o'clock.  The  verdicts  were  being  considered ;  no 
one  said  a  word  in  the  prisoners'  favour  ;  the  vote  was 
taken.  Two  o'clock.  The  verdicts  were  being  re- 
corded. Three  o'clock.  The  man  with  the  bandaged 
head  was  signing  each  sentence.  Four  o'clock.  All 
was  in  readiness.  Whoever  had  slept  in  that  prison 
was  now,  at  any  rate,  on  his  feet  and  was  being  told 
to  feast  his  eyes  for  the  last  time  on  this  beautiful 
world,  on  the  rosy  flush  of  dawning  day,  and  on 
the  dying  of  the  twinkling  stars  in  the  eastern 
sky. 

Unable  to  lie  longer  in  bed,  Alfonsine  rose  and 
went  down-stairs.  A  cab  stood  in  the  courtyard. 
She  ordered  the  porter  to  bring  down  her  hand-bag, 
and  then  drove  to  the  judge-advocate's  house.  She 
knew  him  well,  —  as  the  sexton  knows  the  under- 
taker, —  and  she  felt  sure  of  finding  him  at  home  and 
awake.  She  was  shown  into  his  presence  without 
delay.     The  judge-advocate  was  a  man  of  few  words. 

"  Have  you  finished  your  night's  work  .■* "  asked 
Alfonsine. 

"  Yes." 

"  What  were  the  sentences  ?  " 

"Death." 

"  In  every  case  ?  " 


32  2  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

"  Without  exception." 

"  And  Richard  Baradlay  ?  " 

"  Is  on  the  hst." 

"He  is  condemned  ? " 

"To  death." 

Alfonsine  pressed  the  judge-advocate's  hand  and 
hastened  away  to  her  train.  The  city  clocks  were 
striking  five, — the  last  hour  they  would  ever  strike 
for  Richard  Baradlay,  said  she,  as  she  hurried  on, 
feeding  her  imagination  with  the  last  grim  scenes 
of  his  earthly  career. 

On  arriving  at  Vienna  she  found  the  family  car- 
riage awaiting  her,  and  she  lost  no  time  in  reaching 
her  home.  Hastening  from  room  to  room  in  quest 
of  Edith,  she  found  her  sewing  on  a  black  dress  for 
herself. 

"  I  have  fulfilled  my  vow,"  cried  Alfonsine,  smil- 
ing with  gratified  malice.     "  He  is  dead  !  " 

Edith  raised  her  eyes  sadly  and  met  her  cousin's 
gaze.  Then  she  bowed  her  head  on  her  breast,  but 
she  did  not  weep  or  cry  out. 

Hearing  her  daughter  enter,  Baroness  Planken- 
horst  hastened  to  join  her  and  hear  all  about  the 
success  of  her  mission.  Nor  did  the  other  omit  any 
detail  in  recounting  her  experiences  of  the  night  and 
the  early  morning.  She  dwelt  with  pride  on  the 
instant  and  entire  success  that  had  crowned  her 
efforts.      Thereupon  the  mother  and  daughter  em- 


A    HEADACHE   AND   ITS   COA  SEQUENCES.       323 

braced  and  kissed  each  other  in  their  joy,  nearly- 
forgetting  in  their  congratulations  the  presence  of  a 
third  person.  But  was  the  victim  determined  not  to 
wince  ? 

"  Haven't  you  a  single  tear  to  shed  for  him  ? "  they 
asked,  scornfully.  But  perhaps  she  had  not  yet 
grasped  the  meaning  of  it  all.  "  Don't  you  hear 
me  1  "  screamed  her  cousin  ;  "your  Richard  Baradlay 
is  dead." 

The  other  only  sighed.  "  God  has  taken  him," 
said  she  to  herself,  "  and  I  shall  mourn  him  as  long 
as  I  live."  But  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  say 
anything  aloud.     Her  anguish  was  too  keen. 

"Weep  for  him,  I  tell  you!"  cried  the  beautiful 
fury,  stamping  her  foot,  while  loose  locks  of  her  fair 
hair  fluttered  about  her  face. 

At  that  moment  the  servant  opened  the  door  and 
announced,  "Captain  Richard  Baradlay."  There  he 
stood,  but  no  longer  in  the  uniform  of  a  captain  of 
hussars.     He  wore  plain  citizen's  clothes. 

The  tormented  victim  of  the  headache  had  em- 
ployed the  last  hours  of  his  tenure  of  office  in  causing 
one  hundred  and  twenty  of  the  chief  prisoners  under 
his  care  to  be  tried  and  sentenced  with  the  utmost 
expedition.  They  were  condemned  to  death,  but  he 
exercised  his  right  of  pardon,  and  set  them  all  free, 
without  exception.  He  thus,  as  he  had  vowed  in  his 
hour  of  torment,  took  ample  revenge  —  not  on  the 


-.o^ri 


324  "  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

accused,  but  on  the  minister  who  was  about  to  remove 
him  from  office.  He  issued  a  wholesale  pardon. 
"  Now  let  the  minister,  in  his  zeal  for  milder  methods, 
outdo  me  if  he  can  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  threw  down 
his  pen. 

Richard  had  been  summoned  before  the  judge- 
advocate  immediately  after  receiving  the  unexpected 
announcement  of  his  pardon. 

"You  are  set  free,  it  is  true,"  said  the  high  official ; 
"yet  for  a  time  you  are  not  allowed  to  live  in  Hun- 
gary, but  are  ordered  to  make  your  home  in  some 
city  of  the  empire  outside  your  own  country.  Let 
us  say  Vienna,  for  example.  The  governor,  who  has 
tOrdaY_given  you  your  liberty,  wishes_yo_u  to  call  on 
the  young  Baroness  Alfonsine  Planker3]io£al;,__upon 
your  arrival  at  Vienna,  and  thank  her  for  her  good 
offices  in  securing  your  liberation.  Withouther 
intervention  you  would  not  so  soon  have  left  3^r 
prison_££lL — So  give  her  your  heartiest  thanks." 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  one  thing  more  :  your  brother  Eugen,  or 
Ödön,  as  you  call  him,  has  paid  the  penalty  of  his 
treason  with  his  life  —  " 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  interrupted  the  other;  "but  I 
am  puzzled  how  the  German  and  the  Hungarian 
names  —  " 

Here  he  was  sharply  cut  short.  "  In  the  first 
place,"    said    the   judge-advocate,    sternly,    "it    was 


t;v  ^;^  ^y^^ 

A   HEADACHE  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.      325 

against  all  rules  and  regulations  for  you  to  hear  any- 
thing about  it,  since  you  were  a  prisoner,  and  com- 
munication with  a  prisoner  is  treason.  In  the  second 
place,  I  did  not  ask  you  for  a  lecture  on  philology ; 
you  are  here  to  attend  to  what  I  have  to  say." 
Therewith  he  took  a  little  pasteboard  box  out  of  a 
drawer.  "  Your  brother  left  you  a  lock  of  his  hair, 
which  I  now  deliver  to  you." 

Richard  opened  the  box.  "  But  this  is  not  —  "  he 
began,  in  great  surprise,  when  the  other  again  shut 
him  off. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

With  this,  the  released  prisoner  was  shown  to  the 
door.  A  little  more,  and  he  would  have  blurted  out 
his  astonishment  at  finding  blond  hair  in  the  little 
box,  whereas  Ödön's  hair  was  dark. 

Hastening  to  the  railway  station,  Richard  caught 
the  early  train  to  Vienna,  and  so  made  the  journey 
all  but  in  Alfonsine's  company.  She,  however,  took 
her  seat  in  a  iirst-class  compartment,  while  he,  as  a  poor 
released  prisoner,  contented  himself  with  a  third-class 
seat.  And  while  the  young  lady  was  revelling  in  her 
supposed  revenge,  only  a  few  yards  away  sat  the 
object  of  her  hatred,  puzzling  his  brain  over  three 
baffling  riddles.  The  first  was  :  "  What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  the  blond  lock  of  hair,  and  why  Eugen  Barad- 
lay  instead  of  Edmund?"  '  The  second:    "  How  is 


326  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

it  that  I  am  indebted  to  Alfonsine  Plankenhorst  for 
my  freedom  ?  "  And  the  third  :  "  Where  shall  I  find 
Edith,  and  when  I  find  her  what  is  to  be  my  next 
step  ? " 

He  could  solve  neither  of  the  three  riddles. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


THE    SUITOR. 


Richard  entered  the  Plankenhorst  house  with  the 
ease  and  freedom  of  a  man  visiting  old  friends.  He 
did  not  note  the  expression  of  amazement  and  terror 
—  as  if  at  sight  of  a  ghost  —  with  which  the  mother 
and  daughter  stared  at  him.  He  had  eyes  only  for 
Edith,  who,  beside  herself  with  joy,  sprang  to  em- 
brace him,  stammering  as  she  lay  on  his  bosom  : 
"  Richard,  is  it  really  you  ?  " 

The  baroness  was  the  first  to  regain  her  com- 
posure. "  Edith,"  said  she  severely,  turning  to  her 
niece,  "  I  cannot  understand  your  immodest  behaviour 
toward  this  gentleman.  What  do  you  wish,  sir .? " 
she  asked  coldly  of  Richard. 

The  young  man  advanced  to  Alfonsine  and  ad- 
dressed her  in  words  of  sincere  gratitude  and  friendli- 
ness. "First  of  all,"  he  began,  "it  was  to  pay  a 
debt  of  heartfelt  gratitude  that  I  hastened  hither 
this  morning.  At  daybreak  I  was  to  have  been 
executed  as  a  condemned  criminal,  but  at  the  last 
moment  I  was  pardoned.     The  governor,  in  remitting 

327 


328  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

my  sentence  and  setting  me  free,  enjoined  upon  me 
as  my  first  duty  to  pay  you,  my  dear  young  lady, 
my  sincere  thanks  for  my  freedom.  Without  your 
intervention  I  should  have  been  sentenced  to  at  least 
fifteen  years'  imprisonment.  Accept,  I  beg  you,  my 
warmest  thanks  for  your  kind  act." 

Every  one  of  his  words  was  a  crushing  blow  on 
the  viper's  head.  Did  he  thank  her,  Alfonsine 
Plankenhorst,  for  his  liberation,  he  whose  destruc- 
tion had  been  the  end  and  aim  of  all  her  strivings 
for  weeks  and  months  past,  and  the  sweet  vision  of 
her  nightly  dreams  } 

Her  mother,  whose  self-control  was  greater  than 
her  own,  was  forced  to  come  to  her  aid. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  she  to  Richard,  "there  must 
be  some  mistake  here.  The  sei"vice  which  you 
ascribe  to  my  daughter  cannot  have  been  rendered 
by  any  member  of  my  family,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  we  have  not  concerned  ourselves  with  your 
affairs  in  the  slightest  degree.  We  live  in  strict 
retirement,  meet  no  one,  never  meddle  in  politics, 
and  our  drawing-rooms  are  closed  to  society.  This 
last  I  beg  leave  to  emphasise  for  your  benefit." 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly,  madam,  and  I  can 
assure  you  that  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  intrude 
upon  you.  A  few  words  more  and  I  have  done. 
You  will  remember  that  a  year  and  a  half  ago  I 
became  engaged  to  your  niece  —  " 


THE   SUITOR.  329 

"  An  engagement  which,  of  course,  must  now  be 
considered  as  broken  off,"  interrupted  the  baroness. 
"When  you  asked  for  my  niece's  hand  you  were  an 
officer  in  the  army,  a  man  of  property,  and  a  noble- 
man.    Now,  however,  you  are  neither." 

"  But  I  am  still  Richard  Baradlay,"  returned  the 
young  man,  with  dignity.  » 

"  And  free  as  a  bird  !  "  added  the  other,  scornfully. 
"  But  it  so  happens  that  the  other  party  to  the  en- 
gagement is  not  equally  free.  Miss  Edith  Liedenwall 
is  bound  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  her  relatives 
on  whom  she  is  dependent,  and  they  consider  it  their 
duty  to  discountenance  her  engagement  to  Mr. 
Richard  Baradlay.  She  feels,  too,  that  she  has  a 
perfect  right  to  break  the  engagement  and  choose 
again  more  wisely." 

"  I  beg  to  ask  Miss  Liedenwall  whether  that  is 
so  .? " 

Edith  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  venture  to  speak. 

Her  aunt  was  bent  on  settling  the  matter  once  for 
all.  "  Edith  will  do  as  we  think  best  for  her,"  said 
she.  •'  We  are  not  only  entitled,  but  in  duty  bound, 
to  make  wise  provision  for  her  future.  You,  sir,  are 
now  too  late  with  your  wooing.  We  provided  for 
her  while  you  were  still  in  prison  and  little  likely 
ever  to  see  your  freedom.  My  niece  is  promised  to 
another." 

Edith  started  from  her  chair.      "  Your  niece  will 


330  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

give  her  hand  only  to  the  man  she  loves,"  she  de- 
clared, firmly. 

"  Edith,"  commanded  her  aunt,  without  losing  her 
composure,  "  let  us  not  have  a  scene,  if  you  please. 
You  are  my  foster-daughter  and  I  have  a  lawful  right 
to  demand  obedience  of  you." 

"  I  will  not  be  your  foster-daughter  any  longer," 
cried  the  young  lady,  asserting  herself  resolutely ; 
*'  I  will  go  into  service,  for  which  I  have  been  trained 
in  your  house.  As  chambermaid  or  kitchen  girl  I 
can  give  my  hand  to  whom  I  choose." 

"  You  will  not  be  allowed  to  execute  your  threat, 
my  dear,"  returned  the  baroness  calmly,  "You 
are  under  very  good  care  here,  and  things  will  take 
their  orderly  and  proper  course  until  you  are  called 
upon  to  kneel  at  the  altar ;  and  should  you  choose  to 
weep  while  pledging  your  vows  there,  your  tears 
would  be  merely  regarded  as  a  fitting  accompaniment 
to  the  solemn  ceremonial." 

"But  I  should  not  weep,"  cried  the  girl,  excitedly; 
"  I  should  do  something  very  different.  If  you  really 
found  a  man  who  consented  to  marry  me  to  please 
you  and  against  my  will,  I  should  say  to  him,  before 
he  led  me  to  the  altar,  that  I  once  ran  away  from  a 
convent,  —  ran  away  in  the  night  and  made  my  way 
to  the  camp  where  my  lover  was,  in  whose  room  I 
passed  half  the  night.  Some  of  his  comrades,  as 
well  as  the  market-woman  in  Singer  Street,  saw  me 


THE  SUITOR.  331 

there,  and  all  the  nuns  in  the  St.  Bridget  Convent 
know  about  it.  Sister  Remigia  knows  that  I  ran 
away  and  where  I  was.  The  marks  of  the  punish- 
ment I  received  the  next  day  are  still  visible.  And 
now,  madam,  do  you  wish  another  than  the  man  for 
whom  I  bear  those  scars  to  see  them .'' " 

Passionate  scorn  and  maidenly  indignation  spoke 
in  the  girl's  every  look  and  gesture.  Richard  was 
struck  dumb  with  admiration.  The  baroness  fairly 
choked  with  amazement  and  impotent  wrath.  Of 
what  she  had  just  heard  she  had  entertained  not  the 
slightest  suspicion.  She  felt  her  self-control  and 
will-power  slipping  away  from  her  in  the  determined 
girl's  presence  ;  yet  she  made  one  last  attempt  to 
carry  her  point. 

"  You  wretched  girl ! "  she  cried,  clasping  her 
hands  and  turning  her  eyes  heavenward;  "alas,  that 
you  should  have  so  far  forgotten  yourself  !  Do  you 
know  that  you  have  fallen  a  victim  to  an  unprincipled 
seducer .-'  This  man  here  whom  you  claim  to  be  your 
betrothed  is  already  married  to  another  woman,  who, 
of  course,  has  rights  that  take  precedence  of  yours, 
and  who  will  drive  you  from  his  side  with  reviling 
and  insult." 

"I  —  married  already  .-•  "  gasped  Richard,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  you  !  "  retorted  the  baroness.  "  Or  do  you 
choose  to  deny   that  you  have  a  son  in  Pest  over 


332  THE   BARON'S   SONS. 

whom  you  watch  with  tender  care,  whose  education 
you  pay  for,  and  whom  you  sent  to  the  hospital  when 
he  was  ill  ?     Deny  that,  sir,  if  you  can  !  " 

"  So  you  drag  a  poor  innocent  child  into  our 
unfortunate  quarrel,"  said  Richard. 

"The  child  is  innocent,  but  not  its  father,"  re- 
turned the  accuser,  pointing  her  finger  at  Richard. 

"  Very  well,  madam,  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of 
this  child.  It  happened  not  long  ago  that  I  mortally 
wounded  a  brave  opponent  in  battle.  This  man  sum- 
moned me  to  him  in  his  dying  hour  and  told  me  he 
had,  somewhere  in  the  world,  a  son  whom  he  h^id 
long  sought  in  vain,  but  traces  of  whom  he  had 
recently  discovered.  The  mother  had  abandoned  the 
child.  He  begged  me  to  promise  that  I  would  find 
the  boy,  and  I  did  so,  assuring  him  that  I  would  care 
for  the  poor  waif  as  tenderly  as  if  he  were  my  own 
brother's  child.  Accordingly,  I  prosecuted  the  search 
and  was  at  last  successful.  I  have  in  my  possession 
certain  letters  and  other  papers  which  establish  the 
child's  identity  and  parentage." 

Baroness  Plankenhorst  and  her  daughter  were 
trembling  in  every  limb  and  seemed  powerless  to 
utter  a  word.  Meanwhile  the  speaker  went  on, 
standing  proudly  erect  as  he  proceeded  : 

''  But  I  promised  my  dying  adversary  never  to 
betray  the  mother's  name  to  any  one,  and  you  may 
rest  assured  I  never  shall." 


THE   SUITOR.  333 

Edith  approached  her  lover  and  said,  with  great 
gentleness  :  "  Whoever  the  mother  may  be  of  the 
child  to  which  you  have  promised  to  be  a  father,  I 
will  be  its  mother."  And  she  leaned  fondly  on  his 
breast  and  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

Her  aunt,  vanquished  and  prostrate,  raised  her 
hand  as  if  in  malediction  and  muttered  hoarsely  : 

"Take  her  then  and  begone,  in  the  devil's  name  !  " 


*-  CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

all's  well  that  ends  well. 

Richard  lost  no  time  in  sending  to  his  mother 
from  Vienna  a  full  account  of  his  varied  experiences. 
Her  reply  was  supplemented  by  the  arrival  of  her 
steward  and  his  wife,  who  informed  him  fully  of  all 
that  had  occurred  at  home  during  his  absence.  The 
good  wife  had  come  with  her  husband  to  be  of  such 
service  as  she  could  to  Edith  in  preparing  for  the 
young  girl's  wedding.  Edith  had  been  placed  by 
Richard  in  a  hotel  until  the  marriage  should  take 
place. 

The  riddle  of  the  blond  hair  was  now  explained, 
and  Richard's  grief  and  love  for  his  martyr-brother 
made  him  prize  the  little  lock  of  hair  more  than  all 
other  earthly  possessions.  He  was  also  told  that  his 
mother  had  wished  to  attend  his  wedding,  but  on 
applying  for  a  passport,  —  which  was  now  necessary 
even  for  the  shortest  journeys,  —  she  had  been  refused, 
and  had  received  instructions  not  to  leave  Nemesdomb 
until  farther  notice.  Then  the  young  baioness  had 
planned  to  come,  but  was  detailed  by  her  baby's  ill- 

334 


ALLS    WELL    THAT  ENDS    WELL.  335 

ness.  As  for  his  brother  Ödön,  he  had  the  best  of 
reasons  for  not  showing  himself  in  Vienna  at  present. 
So  the  steward  and  his  wife  had  come  to  represent 
the  family. 

Finally,  the  good  man  announced  that  the  Baradlay 
property  had  been  taken  possession  of  by  the  govern- 
ment, —  not  permanently,  as  only  the  inheritance  of 
two  of  the  brothers,  at  most,  could  be  confiscated, 
while  the  third  brother's  share  must  be  restored  in 
the  end  ;  but  such  matters  were  settled  only  after 
long  delay.  Meanwhile  the  total  income  of  the  prop- 
erty went  into  the  state  treasury,  and  a  mere  pittance 
was  returned  to  the  widow,  in  monthly  payments,  for 
the  support  of  her  family.  Therefore  Richard's  ex- 
penses were  to  be  regulated  with  extreme  economy. 
The  young  man  found  all  this  only  what  was  to  have 
been  expected.  He  had  been  granted  his  life  and 
liberty,  and  was  not  disposed  to  grumble  at  losing 
his  property.  What  engrossed  his  thoughts  just  then 
was  his  approaching  marriage  with  Edith,  which  was 
to  make  him  the  happiest  man  in  all  the  world. 

When  in  due  time  he  had  attained  to  that  longed- 
for  bliss,  he  found  himself  confronted  by  a  situation 
that  demanded  earnest  consultation  with  the  partner 
of  his  happiness. 

"Do  you  know,  little  wife,"  said  he,  "that  we  are 
very  poor  .-* " 

But  Edith  only  laughed  at  him.      "  How  can  we 


:)j^ 


THE   BARON'S  SONS. 


be  poor  when  we  have  each  other?"  she  demanded, 
triumphantly. 

"That  makes  two  millions,  I  know,"  admitted 
Richard ;  "  but  it  yields  no  interest  in  cash.  We 
must  economise.  Do  you  know  what  our  monthly 
income  actually  amounts  to  '^.  One  hundred  florins. 
More  than  that  my  mother  cannot  spare  me,  as  she 
is  much  straitened  herself." 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  we  can  spend  even  that 
amount,"  declared  Edith.  "  It  is  a  great  sum  of 
money." 

"  I  must  confess  one  thing  more  to  you,"  pursued 
the  young  husband  ;  "  even  this  small  income  is  not 
all  mine.  I  have  a  number  of  little  debts  here  in  the 
city,  dating  back  one  and  two  years,  or  more,  —  tri- 
fling sums  that  I  owe  to  honest  shopkeepers  and 
working  people.  These  debts  were  mere  bagatelles 
to  me  then,  but  they  press  me  heavily  now.  Yet  I 
can't  allow  these  poor  people  who  have  trusted  me  to 
suffer  loss.  I  shall  pay  them  every  penny,  and  for 
that  purpose  I  propose  to  set  aside  one-half  my 
monthly  allowance." 

"Very  well,"  assented  the  other  cheerfully;  "we 
can  live  royally  on  fifty  florins  a  month.  I  will  be 
cook,  and  we  will  get  along  with  only  two  courses  for 
dinner.  You  shall  see  what  a  good  cook  I  am.  I 
will  have  a  little  servant  girl  to  wash  the  dishes,  and 
I  am  sure  we  shall  manage  famously." 


ALL'S    WELL    THAT  EXDS    WELL.  337 

Richard  kissed  his  wife's  hand  and  delivered  into 
her  keeping  fifty  florins  for  household  expenses. 

He  then  asked  leave  to  absent  himself  for  a  few 
hours  on  business,  and  Edith  told  him  he  might  stay 
out  until  one  o'clock,  when  she  should  have  dinner 
ready  for  him. 

Richard  appeared  punctually  at  the  hour  set,  like 
a  model  husband.  And  how  good  the  little  dinner 
tasted !  He  ate  like  a  wolf,  and  declared  that  not 
even  the  emperor  himself  fared  better.  Really  it 
was  a  splendid  meal  for  fifty-five  kreutzers. 

"  Such  a  dinner  was  more  than  I  often  got  when  I 
was  a  captain  of  hussars,"  declared  the  gratified  hus- 
band, "especially  when  old  Paul  was  cook —  Heaven 
bless  him  !  " 

The  dinner  had  been  well  earned,  too.  Richard 
had  secured  a  place  as  workman  in  a  machine-shop, 
at  fifty  florins  a  month,  a  splendid  salary  !  He  had 
also  transacted  other  business  in  the  course  of  the 
morning.  He  had  called  on  the  old  shopkeeper  in 
Porcelain  Street,  and  asked  him  to  take  charge  of  his 
finances  and  arrange  a  settlement  with  his  creditors, 
to  whom  he  owed  perhaps  two  thousand  florins.  He 
wished  to  pay  it  off  in  instalments  until  the  last 
penny  of  indebtedness  was  discharged.  Old  Solo- 
mon had  promised  to  call  on  him  between  one  and 
two  o'clock,  when  his  shop  was  always  closed. 

At  half-past  one  the  old  man's  shuffling  steps  were 


330  THE  BARON'S  SO  MS. 

heard  in  the  passageway.  Edith  was  still  busy  with 
her  dish-washing,  and  the  window  was  open  to  let 
fresh  air  into  the  single  room  that  served  as  kitchen, 
dining-room,  and  parlour  in  one. 

"Ah,  my  dear  madam,"  began  the  visitor,  bowing 
low,  "  I  kiss  your  fair  hand  ;  I  am  ever  glad  to  kiss 
the  hand  that  works  —  rather  than  the  hand  that 
knows  only  how  to  hold  a  fan.  You  have  a  very 
pleasant  home  here,  — a  little  cramped  for  room,  per- 
haps, but  that  brings  you  so  much  the  nearer  each 
other.  Now  then,  Captain  Baradlay,  let  us  proceed 
to  business,"  said  he,  turning  to  Richard.  "The  lady 
of  the  house  will  not  be  inconvenienced,  I  trust,  by 
our  transacting  a  little  business  in  her  parlour.  It  is 
here  a  case  of  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one,  I  am  sure." 
The  old  Jew  took  a  bit  of  chalk  from  his  pocket. 
"  Have  the  goodness,  please,  to  give  me  a  list  of  all 
your  debts." 

Richard's  memory  in  such  matters  was  good,  and 
he  named  the  items,  one  after  another,  while  old 
Solomon  wrote  them  down  on  the  table. 

"  Heavens  and  earth  !  "  cried  the  aged  Hebrew, 
raising  his  eyebrows  and  causing  his  round  cap  to 
move  backward  and  forward  on  his  bald  skull ;  "  a 
large  sum,  a  big  pile  of  money  that  makes.  H'm, 
h'm  !  "  He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  his  black 
snuff-box,  and  then  resumed  his  reckoning.  "  It 
appears,    if    I    mistake   not,    that    Captain    Baradlay 


ALL'S    WELL    THAT  ENDS    WELL.  339      O^^OCC 

was    still    under    age    when    these    debts    were   con- 
tracted." 

"  But  my  honour  was  not  under  age,"  said  Richard. 

"  Ah,  well  said  !  That  should  be  posted  up  in  large 
letters,  —  '  My  honour  was  never  under  age  ! '  Do 
you  see,  madam,  what  sort  of  a  man  you  have  mar- 
ried .''  A  spendthrift  who  values  his  honour  at  more 
than  two  thousand  florins. 

"  But  look  here,  Captain,  there's  a  way  we  have  of 
settling  debts  like  these,  by  agreeing  with  the  credi- 
tors to  pay  a  certain  per  cent.  They  are  generally 
glad  enough  to  get  even  a  small  fraction  of  what  they 
supposed  was  dead  loss.  It's  a  very  sensible  arrange- 
ment all  around." 

"But  it  doesn't  suit  me,"  returned  Richard 
emphatically.  "  Florin  for  florin,  it  shall  all  be 
paid  as  fast  as  I  get  the  money.  I  can't  cheat 
the  poor  people  out  of  their  just  dues,  even  if  I 
have  to  go  hungry  to  pay  them." 

"Incorrigible!"  exclaimed  the  other.      "Remem- 
ber, you  are  no  longer  a  bachelor ;  you  must  think 
of  your  changed    circumstances.     Well,  well,  don't   • 
heat  yourself.     We'll  say  no  more  about  it,  but  pass 
on  to  consider  how  all  these  debts  are  to  be  paid." 

So  saying,  he  marked  off  two  parallel  columns  on 
the  table,  over  one  of  which  he  wrote,  "  Debit,"  and 
over  the  other,  "Credit." 

"In  the  first  place,"  began  Richard,  "I  receive  a 


340  THE   BARON'S  SONS. 

hundred  florins  monthly  from  my  mother,  half  of 
which  is  to  go  to  my  creditors." 

"  Half  of  it  ?  and  does  your  wife  agree  to  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Edith  hastened  to  reply. 

Solomon  made  an  entry  in  the  second  column. 

"  Fifty  florins  more  will  come  to  me  monthly  as 
wages  for  my  work  in  the  machine-shop,"  continued 
Richard.  "  Half  of  it  I  shall  use  toward  paying  my 
debts,  and  the  other  half  is  for  my  wife's  wardrobe." 

"But  how  can  I  ever  spend  so  much.-*"  interposed 
Edith.  "  Your  dear,  good  mother  sent  me  so  many 
dresses  for  wedding  presents  that  I  never  can  wear 
them  out.  Let  it  all  go  to  your  creditors."  She 
would  give  the  two  no  peace  until  Solomon  had 
written  down  the  whole  amount. 

Then  the  old  man  pushed  up  the  sleeves  of  his 
caftan,  like  one  who  prepares  to  execute  a  master- 
stroke. "  To  that  must  next  be  added,"  said  he,- 
"the  three  hundred  thousand  florins  that  Miss 
Edith  Liedenwall  brought  to  Captain  Baradlay  as 
her  dowry."  Therewith  he  wrote  "  300,000  fl."  as 
the  next  entry. 

The  two  young  people  looked  at  him  to  see  what 
he  meant  by  such  a  joke ;  but  he  merely  rose  from 
his  chair,  took  each  of  them  by  the  hand,  and 
addressed  them  as  follows  : 

"  I  wish  you  all  happiness  in  your  married  life. 
You  are  worthy  of  each  other.     What  I  just  said. 


r*  ALUS    WELL    THAT  ENDS    WELL.  34 1 

and  what  I  wrote,  were  both  in  earnest ;  and  now  I 
will  explain." 

The  three  resumed  their  seats,  and  the  old  man 
proceeded  to  explain  to  them  the  mystery  of  the 
threg^hundred  thousand  florins. 

"You  had,  my  dear  madam,  a  great-uncle,  Alfred 
Plankenhorst,  who  was  a  rich  man  and  an  old  bach- 
elor. He  had  great  family  pride,  as  I  have  reason 
to  know,  having  been  well  acquainted  with  him 
and  acted  as  his  banker  and  business  agent.  I 
thus  came  to  know  a  good  deal  about  his  family 
affairs.  The  old  gentleman  made  a  will  by  which 
he  left  all  his  property  —  his  house  in  Vienna  and 
his  invested  funds  —  to  his  niece.  Baroness  Planken- 
horst, and  her  daughter.  The  old  uncle  was  long- 
lived,  —  it  is  a  way  with  some  people,  especially 
when  they  are  rich,  — and  before  he  died  the  young 
lady  had  a  love  affair  which  resulted  unfortunately 
for  her  good  name.  Well,  there  was  no  help  for 
it ;  but  the  old  gentleman  had  very  strong  preju- 
dices in  such  matters,  and  he  made  a  new  will. 
Hunting  up  the  orphan  daughter  of  a  distant  relative, 
• — Edith  Liedenwall  was  the  young  lady's  name, — he 
left  her  in  the  care  of  the  Plankenhorst  ladies  for 
her  education.  The  substance  of  the  second  will  I 
can  give  you  in  a  few  words. 

"  Should  Alfonsine  Plankenhorst  ever  marry  and 
make  good  her  false  step  by  a  union  with  a  man  of 


342  THE  BARON'S  SONS. 

birth  equal  to  her  own,  she  was  to  receive  the  bulk 
of  the  property  as  her  dowry  ;  but  if  she  failed  to 
retrieve  herself  before  Edith  Liedenwall  grew  up  and 
married,  the  latter  was  to  receive  this  dowry,  pro- 
vided her  marriage  was  a  suitable  and  honourable 
one,  and  provided  she  had  committed  no  act  such  as 
had  led  the  testator  to  destroy  his  first  will.  Failing 
this  disposition  of  the  property,  as  dowry  either  of 
Alfonsine  Plankenhorst  or  of  Edith  Liedenwall,  it 
was  to  go,  after  a  certain  number  of  years,  to  the  St. 
Bridget  Convent,  though  the  house  was  in  any  case 
to  remain  in  the  possession  of  the  Plankenhorst 
ladies.  I  was  made  executor  of  this  will,  the  con- 
tents of  which  were  to  be  kept  secret.  But  the  sec- 
retary who  wrote  it  communicated  its  items  to  the 
baroness  and  her  daughter,  so  that  they  have  long 
known  all  about  it.  If  you  \vill  now  review  the 
events  of  your  courtship  and  engagement,  in  the 
light  of  what  I  have  just  told  you,  you  will  find 
everything  explained  that* has  been  hitherto  myste- 
rious to  you.  Meanwhile,  I  was  watching  the  course 
of  events  and  knew  all  that  was  going  on.  Oh,  we 
quiet  old  people  have  sharp  eyes  ;  we  can  see  into 
houses,  into  pockets,  and  even  into  hearts. 

"The  Plankenhorst  mansion  will  remain  in  the 
possession  of  its  present  occupants.  It  is  a  pretty 
bit  of  property  by  itself,  but  they'll  go  through  it 
within  ten  years.     Yet  these  are  not  times  when  one 


ALL'S    WELL    THAT  ENDS    WELL.  343 

thinks  about  what  is  to  be  ten  years  hence.  He 
who  clothes  the  lilies  of  the  field  and  the  girls  in  the 
ballet  will  also  provide  for  Alfonsine  Plankenhorst. 

"  And  now,   Captain  and  Mrs.  Baradlay,  are  you 
satisfied  with  what  fortune  has  brought  you .-' " 


THE    END. 


SELECTIONS   FROM 

L.    C.   PAGE  AND   COMPANY'S 

LIST  OF  FICTION 


Selections  from 
L*  C*  page  and  Company^s 
List  of  fiction 

An    Enemy     to    the     King.         (Twentieth  Thousand.) 

From    the    Recently    Discovered    Memoirs    of   the 
Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     By  Robert    Neilson    Ste- 
phens.    Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  .         .         .  $1.25 

"  Brilliant  as  a  play  ;  it  is  equally  brilliant  as  a  romantic  novel."  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

"  Those  who  love*  chivalry,  fighting,  and  intrigue  will  find  it,  and  of  good  quality,  in 
this  book."  —  JVetv  York  Critic. 

The  Continental    Dragoon.      {Eighteenth  Thousand.) 

A  Romance  of  Philipse  Manor  House,  in  1778. 
By  Robert  Neilson  Stephens,  author  of  "  An  En- 
emy to  the  King."  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards, 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  It  has  the  sterling  qualities  of  strong  dramatic  writing,  and  ranks  among  the 
most  spirited  and  ably  written  historical  romances  of  the  season.  An  impulsive  appre- 
ciation of  a  soldier  who  is  a  soldier,  a  man  who  is  a  man,  a  hero  who  is  a  hero,  is 
one  of  the  most  captivating  of  Mr.  Stephens's  charms  of  manner  and  style."  —  Boston 
Herald. 

The     Road     to     Paris.         {Sixteenth   Thousand.) 

By  Robert    Neilson    Stephens,    author   of  "  An 
Enemy  to  the   King,"   "The   Continental   Dragoon," 
etc.     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  $1.50 

"  Vivid  and  picturesque  in  style,  well  conceived  and  full  of  action,  the  novel  is 
absorbing  from  cover  to  cover."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger, 

"  In  the  line  of  historical  romance,  few  books  of  the  season  will  equal  Robert 
Neilson  Stephens's  'Tlie  Ku.nl  ;o  i'ltns.'" —  Cinriniiili  I'iiiiesStar. 


LIST   OF   FICTION. 


Gentleman   Player. 

His  Adventures  on  a  Secret  Mission  for  Queen 
Elizabeth.  By  Robert  Neilson  Stephens,  author 
of  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental 
Dragoon,"  "The  Road  to  Paris'  etc.  Illustrated  by 
Frank  T.  Merrill. 
I  vol.,  lib.   i2mo,   cloth,  450  pages  $1.50 

"  A  Gentleman  Player  "  is  a  romance  of  the  Elizabethan  period. 
It  relates  the  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who,  in  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, falls  so  low  in  his  fortune  that  he  joins  Shakespeare's  company 
of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great  poet. 
Throughout  the  course  of  his  adventures  the  hero  makes  use  of  his 
art  as  an  actor  and  his  skill  as  a  swordsman,  and  the  denouement  of 
the  plot  is  brought  about  by  means  of  a  performance  by  Shakespeare's 
company  of  a  play  in  an  inn  yard. 


Rose     a     Charlitte.        {^tg^íA  Thousand.) 

An  Acadien  Romance.     By  Marshall  Saunders, 
author  of  "Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  H.  De 
M.  Young. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  $1.50 

"  A  very  fine  novel  we  unhesitatingly  pronounce  it  .  .  .  one  of  the  books  that 
stamp  themselves  at  once  upon  the  imagination  and  remain  imbedded  in  the  memory 
long  after  the  covers  are  closed,"  —  Literary  World,  Boston. 


Deficient  Saints. 

A  Tale  of  Maine.     By  Marshall  Saunders,  author 
of  "Rose  á   Charlitte,"  "Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.     Illus- 
trated by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
I   vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth,  400  pages  $1.50 

In  this  story  Marshall  Saunders  follows  closely  the  fortunes  of  a 
French  family  whose  history  is  bound  up  with  that  of  the  old  Pine- 
tree  State.  These  French  people  become  less  and  less  French  until, 
at  last,  they  are  Americans,  intensely  loyal  to  their  State  and  their 
country.  Although  "  Deficient  Saints "  is  by  no  means  a  historical 
novel,  frequent  references  are  made  to  t^°  early  romantic  history  of 
ATnine. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 


Her  Sailor. 

A  Novel.  By  Marshall  Saunders,  author  of 
"  Rose  á  Charlitte,"  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.  Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  lib.    i2mo,  cloth,  250  pages  $1.25 

a  story  of  modern  life  of  great  charm  and  pathos,  dealing  with 
the  love  affairs  of  an  American  girl  and  a  naval  officer. 

Midst  the  Wild   Carpathians. 

By  Maurus  Jokai,  author  of  "  Black  Diamonds," 
"The  Lion   of  Janina,"  etc.     Authorized  translation 
by  R.  Nisbet  Bain.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  $1.25 

"The  story  is  absorbingly  interesting  and  displays  all  the  virility  of  Jokai's 
powers,  his  genius  of  description,  his  keenness  of  characterization,  his  subtlety  of 
humor  and  his  consummate  art  in  the  progression  of  the  novel  from  one  apparent 
climax  to  another."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

Pretty  Michal. 

A  Romance  of  Hungary.  By  Maurus  Jokai,  author 
of  "Black  Diamonds,"  "The  Green  Book,"  "Midst 
the  Wild  Carpathians,"  etc.  Authorized  translation 
by  R.  Nisbet  Bain.  Illustrated  with  a  photogravure 
frontispiece  of  the  great  Magyar  writer. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  325  pages         $1.50 

"  It  is  at  once  a  spirited  tale  of  '  border  chivalry,'  a  charming  love  story  full  of 
genuine  poetry,  and  a  graphic  picture  of  life  in  a  country  and  at  a  period  both  equally 
new  to  English  readers."  —  Literary  World,  London. 

In   Kings'  Houses. 

A   Romance  of  the    Reign   of   Queen  Anne.     By 
Julia  C.   R.   Dorr,  author  of  "  A  Cathedral  Pilgrim- 
age," etc.     Illustrated  by  Frank  T,  Mejrill. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  We  close  the  book  with  a  wish  that  the  author  may  write  more  romance  of  the 
history  of  England  which  she  knows  so  well."  —  Bonktnan,  Neiv  York. 

"A  fine  strong  story  which  i-;  i  •■'\f  to  come  upon.  Related  with  charming 
simple  irt."  —  Philadeipkia  PiiUii*  Utd^tr. 


LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Manders. 

A  Tale  of  Paris.  By  Elwyn  Barron.  Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  lib.   i2mo,  cloth,   350  pages     .  .  $1.50 

"  Bright  descriptions  of  student  life  in  Paris,  sympathetic  views  of  human  frailty, 
and  a  dash  of  dramatic  force,  combine  to  form  an  attractive  story.  The  book  contains 
some  very  strong  scenes,  plenty  of  life  and  color,  and  a  pleasant  tinge  of  humor. 
...  It  has  grip,  picturesqueness,  and  vivacity." — ■  The  Speaker  {London). 

"  A  study  of  deep  human  interest,  in  which  pathos  and  humor  both  play  their  parts. 
The  descriptions  of  life  in  the  Quartier  Latin  are  distinguished  for  their  freshness  and 
liveliness."  —  St.  James  Gazette  {London). 

"  A  romance  sweet  as  violets."  —  Town  Topics  {New  Ytfrk), 


in  Old  New  York. 

A   Romance.  By  Wilson  Barrett,  author  of  "  The 
Sign  of  the  Cross,"  etc.,  and  Elwyn  Barron,  author 
of  "  Manders."     Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  lib.    i2mo,  cloth,  350  pages      .         .         $1.50 

A  historical  romance  of  great  vigor  and  interest.  The  collabora- 
tion of  Mr.  Barrett  with  Mr.  Barron,  the  successful  author  of  "  Man- 
ders," is  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  the  production  of  a  volume  of 
fiction  which  will  take  very  high  rank. 

Omar  the  Tentmaker. 

A  Romance  of  Old  Persia.     By  Nathan  Haskell 
Dole.     Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Merrill. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  The  story  itself  is  beautiful  and  it  is  beautifully  written.  It  possesses  the  true 
spirit  of  romance,  and  is  almost  poetical  in  form.  The  author  has  undoubtedly  been 
inspired  by  his  admiration  for  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam  to  write  this  story  of 
which  Omar  is  the  hero." — Troy  Tiines. 

"  Mr.  Dole  has  built  a  delightful  romance."  —  Chicago  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  a  strong  and  vividly  written  story,  full  of  the  life  and  spirit  of  romance."  — 
New  Orleans  Picayune. 

The  Golden  Dog. 

A  Romance  of  Quebec.    By  William  Kirby.   New 
authorized  edition.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

"A  powerful  romance  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure  in  the  time  of  Louis  XV.  and 
Mme.  de  Pompadour,  when  the  French  colonies  were  making  their  great  struggle  to 
retain  for  an  ungrateful  court  the  fairest  ;ewels  in  Che  colonial  diadem  ot  France."  — 
Niw  York  Herald. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 


The  Making  of  a  Saint. 

By  W.   Somerset  Maugham.      Illustrated  by  GiL 
bert  James. 
I  vol.,  lib.  121110,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  An  exceedingly  strong  story  of  original  motive  and  design.  .  .  .  The  scenes  are 
imbued  with  a  spirit  of  frankness  .  .  .  and  in  addition  there  is  a  strong  dramatic 
flavor."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  A  sprightly  tale  abounding  in  adventures,  and  redolent  of  the  spirit  of  mediaeval 
Italy."  —  Brooklyn  Times. 

Friendship  and  Folly. 

A    novel.      By   Maria    Louise    Pool,    author     it 
"Dally,"  "A  Redbridge  Neighborhood,"  "In  a  Dike 
Shanty,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth         ....  $1.25 

"  The  author  handles  her  elements  with  skilful  fingers  —  fingers  that  feel  their  way 
most  truthfully  among  the  actual  emotions  and  occurrences  of  nineteenth  century 
romance.  Hers  is  a  frank,  sensitive  touch,  and  the  result  is  both  complete  and  full  ol 
interest."  —  Boston  Ideas. 

"  The  story  will  rank  with  the  best  previous  work  of  this  autKor."  —  Indianapolis 

"■  News. 

The  Knight  of  King's  Guard. 

A  Romance  of  the  Days  of  the  Black  Prince.     By 
EwAN  Martin.     Illustrated  by  Gilbert  James. 
I  vol.,  lib.   i2mo,  cloth,   300  pages      .         .         $1.50 

An  exceedingly  well  written  romance,  dealing  with  the  romantic 
period  chronicled  so  admirably  by  Froissart.  The  scene  is  laid  at  a 
border  castle  between  England  and  Scotland,  the  city  of  London,  and 
on  the  French  battle-fields  of  Cressy  and  Poitiers.  Edward  the  Third, 
Queen  Philippa,  the  Black  Prince,  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  are  all  his- 
torical characters,  accurate  reproductions  of  which  give  life  and  vitality 
to  the  romance.     The  character  of  the  hero  is  especially  well  drawn. 

The  Rejuvenation  of  iliss  Semaphore. 

A  farcical  novel.     By  Hal  Godfrey.     Illustrated 
by  Etheldred  B.  Barry. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

"  A  fanciful,  laughable  tale  of  two  maiden  sisters  of  uncertain  age  who  are  induced, 
by  their  natural  longing  for  a  return  to  youth  and  its  blessings,  to  pay  a  large  surn  for 
a  mystical  water  which  possesses  the  value  of  setting  backwards  the  hands  of  time. 
No  more  delightfully  fresh  and  original  book  has  appeared  since  '  Vice  Versa' 
CharnieH  an  amused  world.  If  is  w^ll  written,  drrwn  tr^  the  life  and  full  of  the  mos» 
eujoyable  hmum  '     -   ll.si.,11,  Btacon. 


LIST  OF  FICTION. 


Cross  Trails. 

By  Victor  Waite.  Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  A  Spanish-American  novel  of  unusual  interest,  a  brilliant,  dashing,  and  stirring 
story,  teeming  with  humanity  and  life.  Mr.  Waite  is  to  be  congratulated  upon  the 
strength  with  which  he  has  drawn  his  characters."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Every  page  is  enthralling."  —  A  cadeniy. 

"  Full  of  strength  and  reality."  —  A  thenieuni. 

"  The  book  is  exceedingly  powerful."  —  Glasgow  Herald, 

The  Paths  of  the  Prudent. 

By  J.  S.   Fletcher,  author  of  "When  Charles  I. 
was  King,"  "  Mistress  Spitfire,"  etc.     Illustrated  by 
J.  W.  Kennedy. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth,  300  pages         .  .  $1.50 

"  The  story  has  a  curious  fascination  for  the  reader,  and  the  theme  and  characters 
are  handled  with  rare  ability."  —  Scots^iiati. 

"  Dorinthia  is  charming.  The  story  is  told  with  great  humor."  —  Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 

"  An  excellently  well  told  story,  and  the  reader's  interest  is  perfectly  sustained  tp 
the  very  end."  — PuncA. 

Bijli  the  Dancer. 

By  James  Blythe  Patton.     Illustrated  by  Horace 
Van  Rinth. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  Modem  India.  .  .  .  The  fcirtunes  of  the  heroine,  an  Indian  Nautch 
girl,  are  told  with  a  vigor,  pathos,  and  a  wealth  of  poetic  sympathy  that  makes  the  book 
admirable  from  first  to  last."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  A  remarkable  book."  — Bookman. 

"  Powerful  and  fascinating."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  A  vivid  picture  of  Indian  life."  —  Academy  {London). 

Drives  and  Puts. 

A  Book  of  Golf    Stories.     By  Walter  Camp  and 
Lilian   Brooks.     Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  lib.  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative  .  .         $1.25 

Considering  the  great  and  growing  interest  in  golf,  —  perhaps  the 
king  of  sports, —  this  volume,  written  by  Walter  Camp,  the  eminent 
authority  on  sports,  in  collaboration  with  Lilian  Brooks,  the  well- 
known  writer  of  short  stories,  is  sure  to  be  a  success. 


8  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 


"  To  Arms  I '' 

Being  Some  Passages  from  the  Early  Life  of  Allan 
Oliphant,   Chirurgeon,  Written  by  Himself,  and  now 
Set  Forth  for  the  First  Time.  By  Andrew  Balfour. 
Illustrated  by  F.  W.  Glover. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"A  tale  of '  Bonnie  Tweedside,'  and  St.  Dynans  and  Auld  Reekie,  —  a  fair  picture 
of  the  country  under  misrule  and  usurpation  and  all  kinds  of  vicissitudes.  Allan  Oli- 
phant is  a  great  hero."  —  Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"  A  recital  of  thrilling  interest,  told  with  unflagging  vigor."  —  Globe. 

"  An  unusually  excellent  example  of  a  semi-historic  romance."  —  World. 


The  River  of  Pearls;  or,  The  Red  Spider. 
A  Chinese    Romance.      By   Rene    de    Pont-Jest, 
with    sixty    illustrations     from    original    drawings    by 
Felix  Régamey. 
I   vol.,  lib.    i2mo,  cloth,   300  pages    .         .         $1.50 

Close  acquaintance  with  ttie  manners  and  customs  of  the  Chinese 
has  enabled  the  author  to  write  a  story  which  is  instructive  as  well  as 
interesting.  The  book,  as  a  whole,  shows  the  writer  to  be  possessed 
of  a  strong  descriptive  faculty,  as  well  as  keen  insight  into  the  charac- 
ters of  the  people  of  whom  he  is  writing.  The  plot  is  cleverly  con- 
ceived and  well  worked  out,  and  the  story  abounds  with  incidents  of 
the  most  exciting  and  sensational  character.  Enjoyment  of  its  perusal 
is  increased  by  the  powerful  illustrations  of  P>lix  Régamey. 

The  book  may  be  read  with  profit  by  any  one  who  wishes  to  real- 
ize the  actual  condition  of  native  life  in  China. 


Frivolities. 

Especially  Addressed  to  Those  who  are  Tired   of 
being  Serious,     By  Richard  Marsh,  author  of  "  Tom 
Ossington's  Ghost,"  etc. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth,  340  pages         .         .         $1.50 

a  dozen  stories  in  an  entirely  new  vein  for  Mr.  Marsh.  The  humor 
is  inesistible,  and  carries  the  reader  on  breathlessly  from  one  laugh  to 
another.  The  style,  though  appealing  to  a  totally  different  side  of 
complex  human  nature,  is  as  strong  and  effective  as  the  author's 
intense  and  dramatic  work  in  "  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost." 


LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Via  Lucis. 

By  Kassandra   Vivaria.     With   portrait    of    the 
author. 
I  vol.,  Ub.  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  '  Via  Lucis '  is  —  we  say  it  unhesitatingly  —  a  striking  and  interesting  production." 
—  London  A  thcuceum, 

"  Without  doubt  the  most  notable  novel  of  the  summer  is  this  strong  story  of  Ital- 
ian life,  so  full  of  local  color  one  can  almost  see  the  cool,  shaded  patios  and  the  flame 
of  the  pomegranate  blossom,  and  smell  the  perfume  of  the  grapes  growing  on  the  hill- 
sides. It  is  a  story  of  deep  and  passionate  heart  interests,  of  fierce  loves  and  fiercer 
hates,  of  undisciphned  natures  that  work  out  their  own  bitter  destiny  of  woe.  There 
has  hardly  been  a  finer  piece  of  portraiture  than  that  of  the  child  Arduina,  —  the  child 
of  a  sickly  and  unloved  mother  and  a  cruel  and  vindictive  father,  —  a  morbid,  queer, 
lonely  little  creature,  who  is  left  to  grow  up  without  love  or  training  of  any  kind."  —  Neiv 
Orleans  Picayune. 


Lally  of  the  Brigade. 

A  Romance  of  the  Irish  Brigade  in  France  during 
the  Time  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.    By  L.  McManus, 
author  of  "The  Silk  of  the  Kine,"  "The  Red  Star," 
etc.     Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  lib.   i2mo,  cloth,  250  pages     .         .         $1.25 

The  scene  of  this  romance  is  partly  at  the  siege  of  Crimona  (held 
by  the  troops  of  Louis  XIV.)  by  the  Austrian  forces  under  Prince 
Eugene.  During  the  siege  the  famous  Irish  Brigade  renders  valiant 
service,  and  the  hero  —  a  dashing  young  Irishman  —  is  in  the  thick 
of  the  fighting.  He  is  also  able  to  give  efficient  service  in  unravelling 
a  political  intrigue,  in  which  the  love  affairs  of  the  hero  and  the 
heroine  are  interwoven. 


Sons  of  Adversity. 

A  Romance  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  Time.  By  L. 
Cope  Cornford,  author  of  "  Captain  Jacobus,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy.  * 

I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....  $1.25 

"A  tale  of  adventure  on  land  and  sea  at  the  time  when  Protestant  England  and 
Catholic  Spain  were  struggling  for  naval  supremacy.  Spanish  conspiracies  against 
the  peace  of  good  Queen  Bess,  a  vivid  description  of  the  raise  of  the  Spanish  siege  of 
Leyden  by  the  combined  Dutch  and  English  forces,  sea  fights,  the  recovery  of  stolen 
treasure,  are  all  skilfully  woven  elements  iu  a  plot  of  unusual  strength."  —  Pittsburg 
Bulletin. 


10  L.   C.    PAGE   AND   COMPANY  S 

The  Archbishop's  Unguarded  Moment. 

By  Oscar  Fay  Adams.     Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  decorative  .         .         $1.25 

Mr.  Adams  is  well  known  as  a  writer  of  short  stories.  As  the  title 
indicates,  these  stories  deal  with  dignitaries  of  the  Episcopal  Church. 
The  mingled  pathos  and  humor,  u'hich  Mr.  Adams  has  handled  so 
admirably  in  describing  his  characters,  make  a  book  of  more  thaik 
average  interest  for  the  reader  of  fiction. 


Captain  Fracasse. 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Gautier.     By  Ellfn 
Murray  Beam.     Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....  $1.25 

"  The  story  is  one  of  the  best  in  romantic  fiction,  for  upon  it  Gsutier  lavished  his 
rare  knowledge  of  the  twelfth  century."  —  San  Fran,  isco  Chronicle. 

"  One  of  those  rare  stories  in  which  vitality  is  abundant."  —  Neiv  York  Herald. 


The  Count  of  Nideck. 

From  the  French  of  Erckmann-Chatrian,  translated 
and  adapted  by  Ralph  Browning  Fiske.    Illustrated 
by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth  ....  $1.25 

" '  The  Count  of  Nideck,'  adapted  from  the  French  of  Erckmann  -  Chatrian  by 
Ralph  Browning  Fiske,  is  a  most  interesting  tale,  simply  told,  and  moving  with  direct 
force  to  the  end  in  view."  —  Minneapolis  Times. 

"  Rapid  in  movement,  it  abounds  in  dramatic  incident,  furnishes  graphic  descrip- 
tions of  the  locality  and  is  enlivened  with  a  very  pretty  love  story."  —  Troj'  Budget. 


iVluriella;   or,   Le   Selve. 

By  OuiDA.     Illustrated  by  M.  B.  Prendergast. 
I  vol.,  Hb.  i2mo,  cloth  .         ,         .         .         $1.25 

"  Ouida's  literary  style  is  almost  perfect  in  '  Muriella.' "  —  Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"'Muriella'  is  an  admirable  example  of  the  author's  best  work."  —  Brooklyn 
Times. 

"  It  dwells  in  the  memory,  and  bears  the  dramatic  force,  tragic  interest,  and  skilful- 
ness  of  treatment  that  mark  the  work  of  Ouida  when  at  her  best."  —  Pittsburg  Bulletin. 


LIST    OF    FICTION.  II 


Bobbie  McDuff. 

By  Clinton  Ross,  author  of  "The  Scarlet  Coat," 
"  Zuleika,"  etc.     Ilkistrated  by  B.  West  CHnedinst. 
I  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth       .         .         .         .         $i.oo 

"'  Bobbie  McDufF,'  by  Clinton  Ross,  is  a  healtiiy  romance,  tersely  and  vigorously 
told."  —  Loiiisville  Courier-J ourjial. 

"  It  is  full  of  mystery  and  as  fascinating  as  a  fairy  tale."  —  Sati  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  a  well-written  story,  full  of  surprises  and  abounding  in  vivid  interest."  —  The 
Congregationalist,  Boston. 

The  Shadow  of  a  Crime. 

A  Cumbrian  Romance.     By  Hall  Caine,  author  of 
"The  Manxman,"  "The  Deemster,"  etc.,  with  twelve 
full-page  illustrations   in  half-tone,  from  drawings   by 
M.  B.  Prendergast. 
I  vol.,  cloth,  illustrated,  gilt  top   .         .         .         $1.25 


The  Works  of  Gabriel  d'' Annunzio. 

The  Triumph  of  Death. 
The  Intruder. 

The  riaidens  of  the   Rocks. 
The  Child  of  Pleasure. 

Each,  I  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth         .         .         .  $1.50 

"The  writer  of  the  greatest  promise  to-day  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
unique  figures  in  contemporary  literature,  is  Gabriel  d'Annunzio,  the  poet-novelist."  — 
The  Bookman. 

"This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so.  But  the  realism  is  that  of 
Flaubert  and  not  of  Zcla.  There  is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speaking. 
Every  detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illummates  either  the  motives  or  the  actions 
of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed.  It  is  deadly  true.  The  author  holds 
the  mirror  up  to  nature,  and  tlie  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences  duplicated  in 
passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as  all  of  us  know  on  the 
first  reading  of  George  Meredith's  '  Egoist.'  Reading  these  pages  is  like  being  out  in 
the  country  on  a  dark  night  in  a  storm.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  lightning  comes  and  every 
detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review  of  the  Triumph  of  Death,  in  the 
New  York  Evening  Sun. 


12  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 

Mademoiselie  de  Berny. 

A  Story  of  Valley  Forge.  By  Pauline  Bradford 
Mackie.  With  five  full-page  photogravures  from 
drawings  by  Frank  T,  Merrill. 

Printed    on    deckle-edged    paper,    with    gilt    top,   and 
bound  in  cloth.      272  pages  .         .         .  $1.50 

"The  charm  of  'Mademoiselle  de  Berny'  lies  in  its  singular  sweetness."  — 
Boston  Herald. 

"  One  ot  the  very  few  choice  American  historical  stories." —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Real  romance  .  .  ,  admirably  written."  —  IVashiiigtoti  Post. 

"  A  stirring  romance,  full  of  life  and  action  from  start  to  finish."  —  Toledo  Daily 
Blade. 

"  Of  the  many  romances  in  which  Washington  is  made  to  figure,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  fascinating,  one  of  the  best."  —  Bostoti  Courier. 

Ye  Lyttle  Salem  Maide. 

A  Story  of  Witchcraft,  By  Pauline  Bradford 
Mackie,  with  four  full- page  photogravures  from  draw- 
ings by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton, 

Printed    on    deckle-edged   paper,   with    gilt    top,    and 
bound  in  cloth.      321  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

A  tale  of  the  days  of  the  reign  of  superstition  in  New  England, 
and  of  a  brave  "  lyttle  maide,"  of  Salem  Town,  whose  faith  and  hope 
and  unyielding  adherence  to  her  word  of  honor  form  the  basis  of  a 
most  attractive  story.  Several  historical  characters  are  introduced, 
including  the  Rev.  Cotton  Mather  and  Governor  and  Lady  Phipps, 
and  a  very  convincing  picture  is  drawn  of  Puritan  life  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  seventeenth  century.  An  especial  interest  is  added  to  the 
book  by  the  illustrations,  reproduced  by  the  photogravure  process 
from  originals  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

In  Guiana  Wilds. 

A  Study  of  Two  Women.  By  James  Rodway, 
author  of  "  In  the  Guiana  Forest,"  etc.  Illustrated. 
I  vol.,  library  i2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover,  250 
pages  .         .         .         .         .         .  .         .         $1.25 

"  In  Guiana  Wilds  "  may  be  described  as  an  ethnological  romance. 
A  typical  young  Scotchman  becomes,  l)y  the  force  of  circumstances, 
decivilized,  and  mates  with  a  native  woman. 

It  is  a  psychological  study  of  great  power  and  ability. 


LIST    OF    FICTION.  1 3 


Vivian  of  Virginia. 

Being  the  Memoirs  of  Our  First  Rebellion,  by  John 
Vivian,  Esq.,  of  Middle  Plantation,  Virginia.  By  Hul- 
BERT  Fuller.  With  ten  full-page  illustrations  by 
Frank  T.  Merrill. 

I    vol.,    library     i2mo,    cloth,    gilt    top,    deckle-edge 
paper  .......         $1.50 

"  A  stirring  and  accurate  account  of  the  famous  Bacon  rebellion."  —  Los  A  ngeles 
Sunday  Times. 

"  We  shall  have  to  search  far  to  find  a  better  colonial  story  than  this."  —  Denver 
Republicaii. 

"  A  well-conceived,  well-plotted  romance,  full  of  life  and  adventure." — Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

"  A  story  abounding  in  exciting  incidents  and  well-told  conversations."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  Mr.  Fuller  will  find  a  large  circle  of  readers  for  his  romance  who  will  not  be  dis- 
appointed in  their  pleasant  expectations."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  instead  of  using  history  as  a  background  for  the  exploits  of  the  hero,  the  author 
used  the  hero  to  bring  out  history  and  the  interesting  events  of  those  early  days  in 
Virginia.  The  author  has  preserved  the  language  and  customs  of  the  times  admir- 
ably." —  Philadelphia  Telegram. 


The  Gray  House  of  the  Quarries. 

By  Mary  Harriott  Norris.     With  a  frontispiece 
etching  by  Edmund  H.   Garrett. 
I  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  500  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  The  peculiar  genre,  for  which,  in  a  literary  sense,  all  must  acknowledge  obliga- 
tion to  the  author  of  a  new  type,  is  the  Dutch  -  American  species.  The  church-goings, 
the  courtings,  the  pleasures  and  sorrows  of  a  primitive  people,  their  lives  and  deaths, 
weddings,  suicides,  births  and  burials,  are  Rembrandt  and  Rubens  pictures  on  a  fresh 
canvas."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"The  fine  ideal  of  womanhood  in  a  person  never  once  physically  described  will 
gratify  the  highest  tone  of  the  period,  and  is  an  ennobling  conception."  —  Time  and 
The  Hour,  Boston. 

A  Hypocritical   Romance  and  Other  Stories. 
By  Caroline  Ticknor.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Ken- 
nedy. 
I  vol.,  large  lómo,  cloth        ....  $1.00 

Miss  Ticknor,  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  promising  of  the 
younger  school  of  Americ.in  writers,  has  never  done  better  work  than. 
in  the  majority  of  these  clever  stories,  written  in  a  dL-lightful  comedy 
vein. 


14  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 

A  Man =at= Arms. 

A  Romance  of  the  days  of  Gian  Galeazzo  Visconti, 
the  Great  Viper.  By  Clinton  Scollard,  author  of 
"  Skenandoa,"  etc.  With  six  full-page  illustrations 
and  title-page  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 
I  vol.,  library  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  deckle-edge 
paper  .......         $1.50 

The  scene  of  the  story  is  laid  in  Italy,  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
fourteenth  century.  The  hero,  Luigi  della  Verria,  unable  to  bear 
the  restrictions  of  home  or  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  profession  of 
law,  as  desired  by  his  father,  leaves  his  family  and,  as  the  result  of 
chance,  becomes  a  man-at-arms  in  the  service  of  Gian  Galeazzo  Vis- 
conti, the  cunning  and  unscrupulous  Lord  of  Pavia,  known  as  the 
Great  Viper.  Thei]|peforward  the  vicissitudes  and  adventures,  both 
in  love  and  war,  of  Della  Verria,  are  told  in  a  way  to  incite  the  in- 
terest to  the  highest  point ;  and  a  strong  picture  is  drawn  of  Italian 
life  at  this  period,  with  its  petty  vendettas,  family  broils,  and  the  un- 
principled methods  employed  by  the  heads  of  noble  families  to  gain 
their  personal  ends. 

An  individual  value  is  added  to  the  book  by  the  illustrations  and 
title-page,  drawn  by  Mr.  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

"  The  style  is  admirable,  simple,  direct,  fluent,  and  sometimes  eloquent ;  and  the 
Story  moves  with  rapidity  from  start  to  finish."  —  The  Bookman. 
"  A  good  story."  —  N'.  V.  Cominercial  A  dvertiser. 
It  is  a  triumph  in  style."  —  Utica  Herald. 


Cyrano  de  Bergerac. 

A  Heroic  Comedy  from  the  French  of  Edward  Ros- 
stand,  as  accepted  and  played  by  Richard  Mansfield. 
Translated  by  Howard  Thayer  Kingsbury. 
I  vol.,  cloth   decorative,  with  a  photogravure  frontis- 
piece  ........         $1.00 

I  vol.,  paper  boards      .....  ^so 

The  immediate  and  prolonged  success  of  "Cyrano  de  Bergerac,"in 
Paris,  has  been  paralleled  by  Mr.  Mansfield's  success  with  an  English 
version,  dating  from  its  first  night  at  the  Garden  Theatre,  New  York, 
October  3,  1898. 

As  a  literary  work,  the  original  fornr  of  Rostand  took  high  rank  >, 
and  the  preference  of  Mr.  Mansfield  for  Mr.  Kingsbury's  new  trans 
lation  implies  its  superior  mciAW 


LIST    OF    FICTION.  1 5 


A  Had   Madonna  and   Other  Stories. 

By  L.  Clarkson  Whitelock.    With  eight  half-tone 
illustrations. 
I  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth        ....         $1.00 

A  half  dozen  remarkable  psychological  stories,  delicate  in  color  and 
conception.  Each  of  the  six  has  a  touch  of  the  supernatural,  a  quid 
suggestion,  a  vivid  intensity,  and  a  dreamy  realism  that  is  matchless 
in  its  forceful  execution. 


On  the  Point. 

A  Summer  Idyl.     By  Nathan  Haskell  Dole,  au- 
thor of  "Not    Angels    Quite,"  with   dainty  half-tone 
illustrations  as  chapter  headings, 
I  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth         .  .  .  .  $1.00 

A  bright  and  clever  story  of  a  summer  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  fresh, 
breezy,  and  readable  from  the  first  to  the  last  page.  The  narrative 
describes  the  summer  outing  of  a  Mr.  Merrithew  and  his  family.  The 
characters  are  all  honest,  pleasant  people,  whom  we  are  glad  to  know. 
We  part  from  them  with  the  same  regret  with  which  we  leave  a  con- 
genial party  of  friends. 


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